


Lucky Day

by malignantParadigm



Series: Marked [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Bloodplay, Drugs, Forced Voyeurism, Gore, M/M, Mental Abuse, Mind Games, Non Consensual, Physical Abuse, Size Kink, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-05
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-04 20:43:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 42,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/398026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malignantParadigm/pseuds/malignantParadigm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is conscription day, and Tavros is ready to face the drones and their culling forks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning, this fic will be much, much darker and more graphic than Little Fly. And takes place hundreds of sweeps since the last story left off.

Tavros had spent the whole day completely quiet. Sitting at the window of his respite block, staring out at the gradually dimming sky. It hurt his eyes a bit, but it was the last day he was ever going to see anything, and he didn't want to spend it sleeping.

It was conscription night. Tonight, at midnight, all the of-age trolls on Alternia were to take shuttles to the Rainbow Fields, named so for the muddled stain the earth had taken on after countless thousands of sweeps of it being the place where all newly adult trolls were sorted, conscripted, or, for a good many of them, culled right on the spot. The earth was stained with the blood of Trolls who hadn't measured up, mostly red, and brown, and tonight, Tavros's blood would join those stains.

It served no purpose trying to escape, or not showing up. His hive would be raided, and his death far worse if he dared to disobey the empire. And so, after a sleepless, practically motionless day of waiting, Tavros wheeled himself out of his windmill and through the field of sourwheat that surrounded his hive. It took almost an hour to reach the nearest shuttleport, but after that the trip was over painfully fast.

It was almost midnight when Tavros arrived, and found himself huddled within many hundreds of lowbloods like himself, many with disfigurements or injuries. Dronebait, in other words. It was strange how those destined for death seemed to find and flock to one another, with almost no words spoken between them. As it was Tavros simply bowed his head and waited for the Empire Motherships to arrive, uncaring of the occasional jostling of his chair by the other conscripts. He didn't even bother looking for any of his friends, it would only hurt more, in the long run to see them, to know that they were all destined for so many grand adventures, and his last adventure would begin and end tonight, on the end of a Culling Drone's sharpened spear.

Elsewhere, Gamzee Makara was also waiting. Lying on his back, watching the sky. He'd been there for a few hours already, and a veritable circus of Indigos had sprung up around him while he waited. Everywhere he looked he saw his Clown brothers and sisters, jamming together, braiding each other's hair, sitting in singing circles and chanting wicked mirth to the messiahs in miraculous unison. It was a thing of beauty he ain't ever witnessed before in all his sweeps and he loved every second of it.

Only thing missing were his best bros in the world. He knew Karkat wouldn't be showing up, not with his secret miracle blood which probably wouldn't sit all that good with the drones or the empress, but maybe Tavros...

Gamzee sat up, dislodging a pile of flowers a dreamy looking clown-sis had been laying on his shirt. She gave him an admonishing look and he shrugged.

“Sorry sister, gotta go find somebody.” He apologized, and with a wave he went wading through the sea of indigo. The purple soon gave way to blues, and eventually to ceruleans and teals. By the time he was among greens he barely got jostled at all, the crowds of trolls parting for him like an ancient mythical sea of red Faygo.

“Tavbro? You around here?” Gamzee started calling once he'd reached the edge of the browns, but he didn't get to search for more than a second before shouts and gasps started rising in the crowd and a huge shadow rose over the Rainbow Fields. Gamzee looked up.

Gigantic ships the size of cities loomed above them, and from their gullets smaller Conscription pods emerged and began to descend upon them.

The adults had arrived.

~~

The Grand Highblood piloted his own personal ship, commanding it gracefully to the ground. He looked over the trolls, separated by blood colour and waiting uneasily to either be killed or be commanded to board the larger shuttle ships.

He sighed to himself as he landed. He both enjoyed and hated doing this, though it was mostly hate. It was boring, for one thing. Stand around, look over the potentials, kill those that are unworthy, or watch a drone kill them. Motherfucking boring.

He landed his shuttle, exited the craft and into the midst of brownbloods, a large portion looking like dronebait. Figures he would land right close to this group. The drones were already flying down on their own, but hadn’t yet gone through the flocks of wrigglers. He made his way along the lines, but a flash of Indigo caught his eyes. What the motherfuck was one of his blood colour even fucking doing here, mixing with rustbloods.

He stalked forwards, the wrigglers hastily making way for him. He nearly stopped short at seeing his own horns on someone else. Looks like he motherfucking managed to get another descendent. He could already feel that attachment he always felt whenever he saw a new capricorn.

He hadn’t been pailing anyone but the Summoner for the last several sweeps, huh. His little fly wasn’t in any quadrants, at least, none that were motherfucking requited. They sure as hell weren’t Kismesises, but he guessed it had been enough for the drones to accept after all. Hah.

“The fuck you doing here, get back with the others.”

Gamzee was stunned into silence and stillness the second the pod doors opened and the Grand Highblood emerged almost right in front of him. He recognized the enormous adult as his ancestor in seconds, besides them having the same sign, the resemblance was motherfucking uncanny.

“What?” Gamzee muttered in response to the Highblood's order. “Uh, yeah right. Sorry, just lookin' for my bro.”

Gamzee stumbled backwards, as if to hide himself in the crowd, but it kept parting. Leaving him in a hollowed radius of at least ten feet in every direction no matter which way he went, and still there was no sign of Tavros.

This was because Tavros was content to make himself hidden, in his chair he was at least a foot shorter than everyone around him, and he bowed his head. His horns would be the only thing to give him away now. He had heard the whole exchange, and was stuck still with fear. It wasn't that he didn't want to see Gamzee, he was one of his best friends...but he didn't want Gamzee to see him get culled. Which was almost certainly about to happen.

The Grand Highblood considered his descendant. He was so motherfucking thin, and it looked like he was on something as well, he could smell the sopor from here. He narrowed his eyes. He was looking for a brother, in a bunch of brownbloods?

“Did it look like I was giving you a motherfucking suggestion?” He reached out to grab at his descendent, snagging him by the horn, and jerking him back towards the group of Indigos. “Get back with the others. I got plans for you motherfucker.”

He did have something planned in mind, mostly keeping the shit under his wing and in his sight, if he managed to survive the drones. Hopefully he wasn’t a fucking screw up like so many of the others had been.

The drones were going through the crowds now, pushing troll’s either one way or the other. Screams sounded, and blood was starting to spill. Gamzee was worried, but let himself be pushed by the wave of greens and blues back to his group of indigos, who were on their feet now, being examined by drones passively, the majority being passed over on their way to the lowerblooded trolls. Gamzee couldn't stop his eyes from darting from brownblood to brownblood, searching for a flash of metal, a glimpse of a chair wheel.

Tavros was still frozen, unmoving, but he heard the screams starting up from all around him, felt the warm blood splash onto his face and lap from nearby. He didn't look up, he was too afraid, but he felt and heard the sounds of metal and claw slicing through the air, just over his head. Any second now, any second a drone would spot him and that would be it.

He closed his eyes, trying to let his mind drift. He wanted his last thought to be of something beautiful, the mythical fairies in his childhood stories, dancing together in fields of grain by twilight. Tinkerbull curled up with him in his chair, humming to him as he fell asleep. Rapping and laughing with Gamzee and forgetting, just for a minute, that he was awkward and broken and weak...

Flying, in his dreams...

The Grand Highblood watched his decedent go. He had some muscle, but could use some more. Needed to put on some more weight if he was going to look like anything respectable. He turned his attention back the rustbloods being slaughtered around him. He was getting blood on his clothes, but it didn’t bother him, was kind of nice actually. He rather liked the feeling of it, and the smell.

A brownblood had run in front of him, trying to escape a drone, and ran into him. He grinned as he grabbed the thing by its head and chest, and ripped it clean off, delighting in the sound of its bones breaking and the flesh tearing. He had fucking missed this, had no time to play around and break anyone in the last few perigrees. Too much goddamn paperwork.

He was still holding the pieces when he got a good look at what looked like his little fly. He had been behind the troll who had tried to run, sitting in a fucking four wheeled device of all things, eyes shut tight, accepting his fate. The horns on his head were unmistakable, as was his face. The hair was different than his ancestor, but he had spent too long around his little fly to not notice the resemblance.

He’d got one too. HAH.

Oh, how he looked like the Summoner. His pretty little fly with torn wings. It brought a grin to his face. He had been his for so many sweeps now, and he was still fighting. It was muted, but still there, hiding under his skin, flaring now and then. It kept things interesting and kept him coming back, though it had been at least a sweep since he had last paid him a visit.

The drone that had been coming for the brownblood he had just culled stopped its pursuit, and had turned its attentions on the troll in the chair.

The head went flying horn first, piercing the drone’s head. It made an angry buzzing sound, turning to its attention onto him. The body flew into it a second later.

“Back off, that little fucker is MINE.”

He couldn’t help the bloody grin on his face as he advanced, knocking the drone aside and going to inspect the little wriggler that looked like his fly.

“It’s your MOTHERFUCKING LUCKY DAY rustblood.”

Tavros still had his eyes shut tight, he heard the booming voice of the older troll that had reprimanded Gamzee, but he didn't look up. Certain the voice was not for him, and even if it was, it wouldn't be anything good. Let the adult cull him if he wanted, Tavros was ready. But he was staying in his happy place, nobody could take his imagination away from him.

There he was! A lot of the brownbloods had been cleared away and finally, Gamzee could spot Tavros. Sitting within a few feet of his ancestor, who was staring down at Tavros like he was a meal and advancing...

“Oh, shit.” Gamzee muttered and took off in a stumbling run through the crowd back toward Tavros, unknowingly dodging the scythe of a drone who had gotten too good of a look at the green that stained his teeth and claws.

His fly’s descendant seemed to tense more, trying to shrink down in his seat, like if he was small enough, he would leave him alone. How motherfucking precious, and how unlike his ancestor. It made the Highblood tilt his head in mild confusion. His fly would be spitting curses at him, and little oaths, which they both knew would never be fulfilled. At least this one wore his expressions just as his ancestor did, plain on his face.

He wondered how his fly would react to seeing his descendent played with.

He crouched down in front of him, a too toothful grin on his face. He grabbed the little thing by the hair, fingers hardly finding purchase. He would have to have it grow its hair out, what fun was a toy with no good handholds. Though those horns were always a good one, he’d found.

“Look at me, motherfucker.”

His fear was so delicious, and he even smelled like his ancestor, he felt a slight shift in his sheath, but his bulge stayed put otherwise, now wasn’t the time, but he was definitely going to have fun with this little thing.

Tavros flinched, crying out as his hair was grabbed. The vision of the moonlit field faded from his mind and he was brought crashing back to reality. His eyes snapped open and he screamed again. The troll holding him was huge, and terrifying. His face was painted, like Gamzee's, and in fact he looked a lot like Gamzee, but where his friend's face was kind and calm this adult troll was manic, and harsh. His teeth were gigantic and his eyes were dark with rage.

“I...I...” Tavros stuttered. He wanted to say 'let me go', or even 'if you're going to kill me just do it', but he didn't have the guts, not even when faced with the inevitability of death.

Gamzee had just about reached them when Tavros was grabbed and hauled out of his chair, and his blood-pumper caught in his wind tube.

“Hey, hold up a second! Hold up!” He called, and without thinking he grabbed at the hem of his Ancestors ribbed tunic. “Put him down, motherfucker!”

Tavros's eyes widened when he saw Gamzee over the Highblood's shoulder. What was he doing back here, he was going to get himself killed! Tavros was a lost cause, didn't he know that? Why would he come back?

“Gamzee, d-don't! G-get out of here, run!” He managed to squeak out. His words coming easier when not looking into the Highblood adult's eyes.

The Grand Highblood started growling when he felt the hands on his clothes. He narrowed his eyes and looked over his shoulder at the troll who DARED bother him while he was looking at this little fucking miracle. He reached back and snagged the troublemaker by the hair. He was drawn aback when he saw that it was his descendant. The toothy grin returned within seconds though, especially after the shitblood yelled.

“There a reason I fucking should?”, his voice was low and gravely as he said this. He still hadn’t put the rustblood back in his chair, but he humoured his descendent. He saw the drone coming for Gamzee from behind him, and pulled his descendent a bit closer by his hair. The drone changed its course, deciding that the Indigo would be killing it.

Gamzee's eyes watered as his hair was pulled, and his eyes switched between Tavros's frightened expression, and the mirthmaniacal grin of his Ancestor.

“Yeah, uh...” Gamzee panicked and swallowed before saying the first thing that came to his mind. “He's... my quadrant, sir. He's my motherfuckin' Matesprit.”

His throat felt dry as soon as he'd said it. It was a lie...even if he'd often wished it wasn't, and it was a desperate chance, at best. He didn't even know if it'd do anything, but maybe, if his ancestor cared enough about Gamzee to want to keep him alive, he'd care just enough about him to keep his Flushmate alive too? He hoped Tavros would understand. It was just to keep him alive.

Tavros was open mouthed. Stunned. Gamzee had just lied to an adult, to a gigantic, monstrous, highblood adult. He'd told them they were matesprits, but they weren't! Gamzee knew Tavros didn't...feel that way, about him. So what was he saying? Why was he-

Then Tavros caught it. The first glimpse of the Highblooded troll’s symbol. It was Gamzee's. This was Gamzee's ancestor. And Gamzee, he was...trying to save Tavros's life. Tavros felt a rush of pity but it was quelled almost immediately by fear and the pain flooding his scalp.

The Grand Highblood’s eyes took on a different sheen at that. Was this little thing REALLY trying to lie to him? Fuck, yes it was. His little shit had a hell of a set of vestigial fat-sacks on him to try and pull that. But it gave him some interesting ideas. He had some time off after this, and he was going to motherfucking USE it.

“Your, matesprit eh?” He chuckled, but let the disabled troll drop. He noticed the legs landed all askew on the chair. He vaguely wondered if it would even be able to feel anything, then decided it didn’t fucking matter.

He turned to his descendent, pulling him closer to his new toy. “Get your fucking asses on my ship. You saw where it landed?” He pointed it out anyway. It was fairly close. There were less drones, but none between the two and the ship.

The other adults had taken an interest in what he was doing, but didn’t stop him, none were fucking higher than him.

Gamzee stood stunned in his tracks. Had he just said, get your ASSES on the ship? Like, both of them? Eagerly he nodded and circled around behind Tavros's chair. He began pushing it toward the Highblood's ship without any further backtalk, eager to get out of the range of the drones and their culling prongs. Damn, he couldn't believe that shit had worked. Must be the miracles.

“You alright, Tavbro?” He muttered behind Tavros. Who had his head bowed and his hands folded in his lap. He seemed catatonic and hadn't even budged when Gamzee started pushing him. He was quiet for a few long moments before he answered.

“...You shouldn't have done that. You could've gotten in trouble.”

“Worth any trouble I get into if it keeps your ass alive and kickin', bro.” Gamzee replied. “Minus the kicking I guess, actually, sorry.”

Tavros was silent all the rest of the way to the ship. Inside there wasn't much room. Enough for maybe 20 or so trolls if they stood. There were a couple of Indigos already on board, they stared curiously at Tavros, wondering what he was doing on a highblood conscription pod, no doubt. Tavros avoided their eyes.

What would the highblood do to them? He couldn't possibly have a use for a crippled lowblood like himself. Not even if he DID buy that matesprit story, which Tavros doubted. Gamzee tried talking to him, but Tavros barely heard him and eventually they were both just standing there, in silence. Waiting.

~~

There was only a bit more he had to do. The final overlook for each section. Killing those the drones missed, or those that weren’t fast enough to move. There were more of the lowbloods getting on than he usually let through, his mind was elsewhere.

He was thinking about what he was going to do to the little fly with broken legs, and what he was going to get his descendent to do... This was going to be motherfucking delicious. He would have to do paperwork for his descendent himself, but that was fucking easy. The hard part would be getting him for adult life.

He debated if it would just be easier to kill the little shit, but the thought didn’t stay long. He liked the idea of having another little him running around, it had been a while since he had an apprentice. He would have to train him, get him off Sopor and functioning. It was not uncommon for ancestors to take their decedents under their tutelage when they became aware of them. His little shit’s education would just happen a lot sooner than most.

It was almost no time at all before he was back on his ship, he stopped short at how empty it was, and how they were not motherfucking there. He growled, there was another ship close by, they had probably gotten on that one. Motherfuck. He’d even fucking pointed it out.

He ducked back out. There was another shuttle, where they were putting the Indigo bloods on. Thank the mirthful messiahs it hadn’t left yet. They would have just culled the fly’s descendent when they docked. He stormed his way onto the ship and looked around, easily spotting the two.

“What part of GET ON MY MOTHERFUCKING SHUTTLE did you little shits not understand?”

He reached forwards and grabbed his descendent by the horn and gave him a good shake, shoving him towards the door. He grabbed the other with one hand curling around the rustblood’s throat and shoulders and lifted him up. Not enough to choke, but it probably wasn’t comfortable.

“Get fucking moving.” He left the chair where it was.

Gamzee stumbled out of the ship awkwardly, his eyes on Tavros, who squirmed and writhed, his breaths short, painful gasps. But he kept quiet, not wanting to ask any of the questions on his thinkpan in case it would come back to hurt them. But why weren't they going with everyone else? He didn’t want any special treatment or nothing.

As his chair disappeared behind the sliding doors, Tavros held back bitter tears. Now he wouldn't even be able to move. He could do nothing except struggle to breathe as he was carried outside.

The Highblood followed his descendent off of the ship, ignoring the other Indigos that were chattering behind him. When the young troll seemed unsure about what way to go, he pushed him towards his ship, watching him struggle and stumble. There would be a lot of work to do with this one.

He glanced at the brownblood in his claws, who shifted incessantly. He licked his lips. Motherfuck did he ever look good gasping like that. He smiled when he stepped back into his blood spattered ship, some of the tension leaving him. The cockpit was small, with only one extra chair. He grinned and dropped the lowblood in it. “Matesprits should share a fucking chair. Don’t you think?” He ignored them as he took his own, turning on his ship, and getting it ready to take off.

He set his course for his flag ship instead of the normal docking ship that drifted in the sky above. It would take them some time, even at the fastest speed. He cast a look at the two wrigglers. He would have to amuse himself with those two, maybe even work on his fucking descendent a little bit. But later.

“Buckle up.” He gave no other warning before lifting off.

Gamzee looked around for any other place to sit but was quickly knocked off his feet. If he didn't strap himself in he'd probably get injured or something.

Tavros had his hands clamped to the seat on either side of him, balanced precariously, he glanced sideways up at Gamzee.

“Gamzee, please. I won’t feel it, anyway. Just...just come sit down.” He said stiltedly, fighting down a blush.

Gamzee's face was bright purple as he sat on Tavros's lap and pulled down the safety straps over both of them. Trying to ignore how warm Tavros was under him, and even if Tavros couldn't feel it, Gamzee sure could. The G forces that pushed him further down as they rose didn't help either.

He stared out the viewing-window and let out a slightly nervous giggle when he felt Tavros bury his face in his shoulder-blade.

“You alright, Tav?” He whispered, trying not to be overheard by the Highblood, his voice mostly covered by the sound of the jets.

“I, think I might be sick.” Tavros muttered.

“Don't worry.” Gamzee replied. “I ain't gonna let nothing bad happen to you bro, I promise.”

It broke Tavros's heart a little to hear just how much Gamzee believed what he was saying.

“...Thanks, Gamzee.”

The Grand Highblood guided the ship out of orbit, passing the conscription ships. He sent out a ping to it as he passed, sending off a message, covering his sorry ass.

His thoughts darted back to the two at his side. He didn’t look at them or even acknowledge them. He had thought about talking to them, as he pushed the ship faster, the auto-pilot controlling the craft, but decided against it. Let those little fuckers stew a bit. They could get their motherfucking talk on when they make it back to his ship.

He chuckled a bit, dark and low and growly. If he had been younger, and not in control, the chucklvoodoos would have flooded the cabin.

The Summoner’s ward looked scared enough already. Motherfucking tasty.

After what seemed to Tavros like a very long time, the flagship came into view. First as a distant pinprick in the dead-black of space, then closer, until it was apparent how immense the ship really was, at least as big as a large city. Immense and, even from the outside, obviously meant for Highblood passengers. There was a dark indigo iridescence to the metal hull, it's sharp curves and points expertly designed to appear both menacing and capricious.

“Woah...” Gamzee whispered. Still seated on Tavros's lap. He'd relaxed over the course of the trip and now his full weight rested comfortably on Tavros, not that he could feel it in his legs, but against his chest it was...kind of nice. As terrified as he was, and as sure as he was that an even worse fate than being culled in the Rainbow Fields awaited him aboard that ship, at least he was with Gamzee, and at least it looked like Gamzee would be fine. Tavros had to admit, he hadn't been sure Gamzee would survive the drones, what with his obvious Sopor addiction. But he had, and...so had he, apparently.

Gamzee suddenly turned to the Grand Highblood, tearing his eyes away from the miraculous ship excitedly.

“Hey, Sir? You the captain of that bitch?” He asked. Tavros's eyes widened and he buried his face in Gamzee's shirt again. The Highblood might be Gamzees ancestor, but he was unpredictable and frankly, Tavros was already more scared of him than he'd ever been of anyone.

He couldn’t help the dark grin on his face, hungry and eager as he neared his ship. The Summoner was down in the bowels, waiting for him, and he was going to bring him a gift.

He tilted his head at his descendent as he asked his question. The brownblood had buried its little head into the others back, trying to hide its face. Couldn’t hide those miraculous horns, though. He bet they probably had a similar taste to his little fly’s.

His descendant was cute, he guessed, getting all excited over a ship. He liked that enthusiasm.

“Of course I’m in charge of that fucking ship. I’m the Grand Highblood you little shit.” He was grinning widely, it could have been mistaken as something friendly.

He watched those horns move. “You are going to carry your little matesprit when we get to the ship. Follow me, and don’t ask any motherfucking questions.”

Tavros flinched and blushed but he felt Gamzee nod. For the rest of the trip he kept his head in Gamzee's shirt, up until they docked and it was time for them to get off the pod and onto the Highblood ship.


	2. Chapter 2

The Grand Highblood. Tavros couldn't believe it. 

Gamzee's ancestor was so important. He'd heard stories that told how his own ancestor was someone important too, but he was a lowblood, like Tavros. He must be long dead by now. The Grand Highblood however must be at least a couple hundred sweeps old.

“Put your arms around my neck, 'kay?” Gamzee said to him. He hadn't even noticed Gamzee unbuckling them or standing. He looked up at Gamzee’s smiling face and sighed. When he held his arms out he'd expected Gamzee to pick him up in his arms, in that cliched way that a troll would carry their matesprit through the ceremonial fillial pailing room threshold. But instead he turned away and bent down in front of Tavros, grabbing him by each unfeeling leg and hauling him onto his back. Tavros held tight around his neck, letting himself be lifted into a piggyback. He was thankful to be saved the embarrassment, and it meant he could still hide his face in Gamzee's mess of dark hair.

“Just hold tight, bro.” Gamzee muttered, following the Grand Highblood off the pod.

The Highblood himself glanced only once behind him to make sure they were actually following him this time. His eyes were caught again by the lowblood’s legs. They sat there limp at his decedent’s sides. It made him want to kill the useless thing, just a bit. If he was going to keep the little fucker around, he would have to get him new legs to quell the urge. His eyes drifted to his descendant, maybe if he was actually useful and not a fucking lost cause...

He stepped out of the shuttle and onto one of the higher platforms dedicated to high ranked Trolls. It was covered in a mish-mash of colours, though despite the gory illusion most of it was paint. He led the way towards one of the doors of the now busy shuttle dock and out into one of the ship's main corridors. His pace just slow enough so he wouldn’t lose his descendant.

There were several Trolls in the hallway, some subjugglators who saluted him as he passed, as well as the occasional seadweller. He saw some of them do a double take at the wrigglers behind him before smiling widely and making some comments to their fellows and gestures when they recognised the Summoner’s descendant. It was no secret that the boss had The Summoner as a personal toy.

He ignored his lessers, and made his way purposefully down the corridor, turning corner after corner, stopping only to enter an elevator with his sign painted on its solid violet doors. The purple metal groaned as it opened, he stepped in waiting only long enough for his descendant to enter before he closed the doors, the metal contraption rumbling as it started to move upwards. It was to his personal respite suite, close to the top of the ship. 

He regarded his descendant, thinking of where he would keep him. He had a spare respite room in his block, he supposed he would put him there for the time being. The brownblood would be staying with his ancestor in the rooms below his, where he belonged. He would have to get a matching collar for the little thing, engraved with his...

Motherfuck, what were their names? 

“What’s your name?” He asked.

Gamzee hiked Tavros up a bit higher on his back. He was getting a little heavy, but it's wasn't no thing he couldn't handle. The ship was amazing so far, its walls all miraculous patches of colour, the faces of giant subjugglators who smiled when they saw him. Gamzee was already looking forward to...whatever bitchtits new surprise was coming next.

“Me? I'm Gamzee. Gamzee Makara.” He smiled up at the Highblood. “Man, this is cool, yo! I never thought I'd get to meet my own motherfucking ancestor.”

Tavros' eyes were shut tight. The ship was too dark, and it frightened him. When he'd opened his eyes a peek he'd seen clowns leering, and blood splattered walls. He felt about five, instead of the fully adult eight sweep old that he was. And all he could think was 'please don't ask my name, please don't ask my name...'

“This is Tavros, by the way.” Gamzee added, after introducing himself. Tavros' stomach dropped.

The Grand Highblood smiled down at them. He would have his work cut out for him. Gamzee seemed oblivious to danger, at least the brownblood, Tavros, knew he was in the shit. The doors slid open to a hallway decorated with paintings and tapestries. He took them to a door at one end of the corridor, holding it open for them.

“GET IN HERE AND WAIT. I gotta go fucking get something.”

The room was large and spacious, with drawers lining the one wall, shut and locked tight. There was a wide circular glass ceiling, showing off the stars. Directly below it was a circle of couches in a sunken section of the floor. There was a huge mirror along one wall. His grin only turned more sinister when he got an idea. There were faded brown and Indigo stains on the floor, he never could quite get the drones to get them completely out, not that he really minded. This room smelled so fucking inviting.

He left them there as he went to go get his little fly.

~

The Summoner shifted restlessly on the slab of fabric that served as his bed. There were no recoupracoons in his ‘respite block’ and he used that term loosely. He had free reign in it, and could move around, but It was a prison, clean, and simple. It was a tall room, but it was also bare. Just his fabric slab, a table and two chairs, both strong enough that he wouldn’t be able to break them.

He looked down at the scarred hands in his lap, the symbol of that monster carved deep sweeps and sweeps ago. There were other places his mark had been carved, on the side of one thigh, and the middle of his back, between his wings. That one, hurt the most, he thinks. He wanted to tear them off, to scratch them out. It was disgusting having these on him, but his claws had been cut, and his teeth filed. 

The heavy metal fabric lined collar at his throat denoted his status. Not even a slave, a pet. He bared his teeth. This was pathetic. Mindfang would laugh and weep at how he had fallen from the very top, a leader of a rebellion, her killer- She would only laugh at him now, wondering how he could have ever been her Matesprit. It hurt his blood pusher when he thought about her, even though it had been so long. One would think the pain would get duller as the time past, but all he had to dwell on were his memories.

Everyone else he knew was dead, he should be dead as well, from age, if nothing else, even if he didn’t know how long it had been. The Highblood never told him the current date, or let him see a timepiece. He could only judge from when and how often he was fed. 

He should be dead, but SHE had given him longevity, grasped his face in her webbed fingers and kissed him, no matter how he tried to move away, as a gift to her insane barkbeast of a general.

How he wanted to die now, be with the others in the afterlife. Before, he thought it would be giving up, giving in. Make the other’s life a fucking hell, but now, after so long, he was beginning to wonder at the futility of it. The Highblood would come... ‘play’ with him, then patch him up, like he was a fucking matesprit or moirail. It made his stomach clench with disgust and hatred. Platonic hatred.

The initial black feelings he had harboured for that monstrous troll had withered away a long time ago, around when he had been captured the second time. He, had expected to die that day on the battlefield, against his kismesis, but he had been robbed of that. It was then, that he realised that the Grand Highblood, the monstrous troll he had wanted as a kismesis, had never seen him as an equal.

He stood abruptly, refusing to wallow in self pity. It did no good, he still had some fight left in him. His wings drooped below him, no longer having the muscle mass to keep them spread and impressive as they once had been. They were beautiful still, but they were small, barely grown back from the last time the Highblood tore them off. They fluttered regardless when he almost lost his balance.

Even though it had been sweeps and sweeps since his horns had been removed as punishment for trying to gorge the Highblood when he had come to visit him one day. He would never be fully balanced again, forever unsure on his feet. That hurt most of all. He had lost his abilities to command beasts when they were taken, sawn off into pointless stumps. It left his head feeling empty and hollow.

He heard the clicking of claws coming from the quiet hallway outside his chambers. The empty dish he had eaten his food from still sat on his bed. It was too soon for another feeding.

He was back.

The Highblood smiled as he opened the door, easily catching the fury that was directed at him, the blunt claws barely making a scrape. He chuckled as he grabbed it with one hand by the hair and slammed it to the side, into the wall. The black strands were silken in his grip, and long, down to the other’s shoulders. Long enough to grab, but not long enough to hang himself with.

He brought his face close and breathed in his scent, still so much fury and power. Motherfuck, it was like coming home.

“Hello, little fly.” He grinned down at the dazed and pained face.

One hand went to touch the delicate brown wings that had grown back. Ahh, how lovely. He grinned savagely.

“I would love to spend some more fucking time just having fun with you, I motherfucking missed you my little fly, but I got a present for you. I think you‘ll enjoy it.” He grinned as he grabbed the troll by the cuffs on his wrists. Linking them together before pulling them along.

The Summoner groaned, his head ringing and his horn stubs punding. It made it hard to concentrate as he was led out of his cell, and upwards. Highblood didn’t say anything as he led him into a small room with a large window, and a chair, which he chained his hands to. He was grabbed by his hair again, and brought into a punishing kiss, it split his lip, brown blood dripping down his chin.

the Highblood made a gesture to be quiet and winked, ducking back out of the room.

The Summoner turned his attention to what was on the other side of the window and felt his heart stop. In there, there was someone with his sign, in his blood colour, with his horns. Or at least, the horns he used to have.

His descendant. His descendant, he had one, and now the Highblood had him. He wanted to scream, he did so, yelling at him to run.

The Highblood smiled as he left the Summoner in his secret room he used to watch those he was inviting over privately, just to see them stew. It was mostly soundproof, those two wouldn’t hear the Summoner scream and yell. As he knew he would. His grin was toothy as he joined the two descendants in the main room.

-

Gamzee set Tavros down on one of the couches, and sat next to him for a moment, regaining his strength. He turned to smile at his friend, but he wasn't looking at him, instead he was staring at his hands folded in his lap. Awkwardly, Gamzee stood up again and then began pacing slowly around the room, examining everything in a dreamy, but fascinated way. He ran his finger along the shiny, dark mirror that spanned one large wall.

“This is somethin', huh Tav?” He asked.

Tavros didn't say anything. He felt like a corpse, like he was living on borrowed time, waiting for the scythe to drop. He didn't know how Gamzee could be so cheerful, but then again, he was an indigo on a ship of indigos, in a galaxy of Highblood rule. Where people like Tavros were never rescued for no good reason. He didn't have the heart to try explaining that to Gamzee though, not when he was so blindly optimistic.

Determined to cheer Tavros up Gamzee went back to the couch and flopped himself down on it, wrapping one long arm around Tavros' shoulder.

“Hey c'mon Tav, don't worry, motherfucker! He thinks you and me are red for each-other. Probably went to go get us keys for our own respiteblock and everything. And I mean, bein' around me all the time won't be bad as all that, will it?” Gamzee asked jokingly.

Tavros slowly looked up at his friend, and when he saw his smile, decided whoever was going to be the person to finally take that smile off Gamzee's face, it wasn't going to be him. He shakily smiled back and nodded.

“Yeah, well. As long as you don't hog the sopor, or, it’ll be sheets now, I guess, since we are adults.” He replied. Gamzee's face brightened even more. They fell into a moment of silence, staring at eachother. Gamzee bit his lip.

“Hey Tav? I just wanted to-”

The door to the room slid open and the Highblood reentered. Gamzee jolted and ripped his arm away from Tavros, then he seemed to remember they were supposed to be Matesprits, and hurriedly put it back, trying to act nonchalant, as if they were like this all the time. Tavros' eyes found his hands once again, his wary smile disappearing.

The Grand Highblood smiled as his eyes landed on the two sitting on the couch. He had seen the way Gamzee had frozen for a second, almost retreating before letting his hand rest again on the little brown blood's shoulder. He was still trying to pull that shit. How naive.

His descendant was gentle with the lowblood, his touch didn't even look possessive, but he could see the intent behind his young double's eyes. Though, with the way the other was acting, he didn't return the sentiment, and his own descendant obviously hadn't taken it like he should.

He was going to fix that, but that could be later, over sweeps. There was no limit on how long one could have their descendant, or even when they had to be introduced to the rest of society. He lamented the fact that he couldn't put a collar around the young rustblood’s neck QUITE yet, no matter how delicious it would look there.

The lowblood, Tavros was his name, wasn't it, looked apprehensive. He couldn't put on a show if the motherfucking actors weren't all fucking loose now, could he?

He walked over to the other side of the room, heading for a refrigeration unit that blended in with the wall.

“I bet you motherfuckers are thirsty. I know I am.” He reached in, grabbing three bottles of Faygo for himself and his decedent and Tavros, then, reaching into a compartment at the bottom one of the refrigerating unit, he pulled out a small, clear container.He hadn't used this in a while. It was water, but had also been mixed with a powerful aphrodisiac. He remembered how it had affected the elder Taurus before, it was designed to work best with those of his blood colour. He quickly mixed this with the younger troll’s drinks.

He turned around, a friendlier smile on his face as he handed the two their respective drinks, and took his seat across from them, spreading himself down and lounging on the cushions. He brought the drink to his lips and took a large gulp of it, sighing in delight before looking at the two wrigglers from under his mane of hair. 

“How long have you motherfuckers been matesprits?”

-

The Summoner growled as he watched what was obviously the descendant of the Grand Highblood talk and sit next to his own. Run, Why won't you RUN? He couldn't see him perfectly where he was, with the couch angled away from him.

He watched the Highblood re-enter the room, glancing at them and winking at him before moving to the refrigeration unit. He knew what the Highblood was going to do even before he saw him slip the drug into the two drinks.

He felt his blood pusher freeze, his eyes snapping from his descendant back to the bottle. 

“Don't you dare, don't, don't you dare. I will kill you, I will kill you, and I will destroy everything! Leave him alone, he's a child!”

The Highblood obviously didn't hear him yelling as he pulled at his restraints as his wings fluttered in rage.

He watched him give his own descendant that dreaded bottle and watched him lounge, heard him ask a question.

Their descendants... matesprits?

-

Gamzee looked at Tavros, who kept his head down and said nothing. He was holding the bottle he was given tight in one hand.

“Uh, since we was about 6.” Gamzee answered. In reality, that was the age when he'd realized he pitied Tavros, though nothing had ever happened between them other than some awkward confessions on his part, and just as awkward rejections from Tavros. But in a perfect world...

“We’ve known each other our whole lives, met through some friends...” Gamzee continued. He could almost see it, in his head. The way things might have been if Tavros had said yes. “Then it just kinda turned into something more, yanno? Guess you can't predict when true pity will all up and getcha', am I right?” Gamze laughed and shrugged. He took a swig from his Faygo. It was grape. He preferred cherry usually but...

Actually, it was pretty motherfucking delicious! Maybe the adults got fresher pick? Either way it tasted great, sharp and tangy. He took another deep gulp and smacked his lips.

Tavros watched Gamzee drink out of the corner of his eye. He'd opened his mouth to say something, to warn Gamzee not to drink anything he was offered. Wasn't that what Tinkerbull had always told him, 'Never drink or eat anything offered to you by an unknown troll'? But Tavros supposed Gamzee had never had a lusus around to warn him of things like that. And now maybe it was too late? Was he about to see Gamzee keel over any second? But no, it wouldn't make sense to keep them both alive this whole time, only to poison them now.

He looked down at his own drink, then up to the Highblood, who seemed to be watching Gamzee viciously, something triumphant in his eyes. Gamzee had almost downed his whole bottle already and once he had, the Highblood's stare switched to him. Tavros felt sweat creep down the back of his neck and looked away.

Carefully he brought the bottle to his lips and pursed them, tilting the bottle back. Trying to make it look like he was drinking when really only a small bit of the liquid hit his lips then fell back in the bottle. He swallowed air as convincingly as he could then set the bottle down in his lap.

Next to him Gamzee sighed and relaxed. His arm resting more heavily on his shoulders, his hand was playing disconcertingly with the hem of his shirtsleeve.

“That, was some quality elixir, my brother. You get that shit imported?” His voice had a strange slurr to it, and Tavros was immediately thankful he didn't actually drink whatever was in his bottle. He took another fake sip and tried to relax, or at least, pretend to relax.

He made interested noises as he listened to what his descendant had to say. None of it was motherfucking true obviously, but he put some of it away regardless. Gamzee was too motherfucking trusting. He was going to have to break him of that. Not right now, he wanted them both to get the drug in their systems.

His gaze flicked over to the lowblood, who was watching him. He couldn't help when his grin became toothier as he saw the fear in the others eyes, his irises had only just begun to brown. He watched as the lowblood took a careful sip. He either took a very small sip, or hadn't taken any at all, as the bottle still looked full. The second 'sip' confirmed it. It looked like the Summoner's decedent had a better head on his shoulders than his own.

His own motherfucking loss in the end.

The toothy grin returned to his face as his attention found its way back to Gamzee, who was looking more relaxed as the drug took effect. 

“Nah, my shit’s fresh, made right the fuck here on this very ship.” He cast a look at Tavros, before he returned to Gamzee.

“Tell me, have you all up and had some make-outs with your matesprit yet?”

-

The manacles were digging into his wrists as he tried to stand, arms shaking, only able to go about half-way up. The words the little highblood was saying, about their life, was making him gag in rage. How dare he, it was obvious those were lies, and his descendant was just sitting there, watching everything.

...His descendant, signless bless him, he wasn't drinking what the Highblood gave him. Smart little wriggler, keep your wits about you. He couldn't help how it may hurt him in the long run, but at least he wouldn’t have the indignity of having his sanity stripped from him along with whatever else. That chemical did something to the mind, made everything hazy and distant. Oh, he didn't want his descendant to remember this....

He felt a vindictive feeling swell in his own chest as he saw the drug’s effects on the Highblood's descendant, his was at least smarter, if only he was better at playing along. The tension in his body was obvious, even when he tried to relax, but he was being brave, despite hardly looking anywhere but his lap. His little descendant, his brave little descendant. He had to get him out, get him away from the highbloods before they could ruin him.

In the back of his mind, when he would have time to go over the situation, he would wonder at why the Grand Highblood had dosed them both.

~

Gamzee giggled, his mind felt fuzzy. A strange heat and giddyness was welling inside him.

“Oh yeah, totally...we have all the sloppy make-outs. All of 'em. Right Tav? Ha ha ha...” He chuckled, voice slow and musical. 

He turned to Tavros, and fuck if he didn't just look like the most adorable little fucker who ever up and existed. Even more so than usual. Gamzee smiled at him and hugged him closer to his side. On a whim, he tilted his head to rest it on Tavros', rubbing his face in his hair. He didn't know why he did it, Tavros had his thing about personal space, and usually Gamzee respected the shit out of that, but...it just felt like the right thing to do. He was just so warm...

Tavros froze up, he'd been trying to act relaxed, since that was obviously the effect of whatever the Highblood had dosed Gamzee with. But with the way Gamzee was acting, and all the invasive questions...Tavros wondered if maybe there weren't other side effects. What if...

He tried not to blush, realization setting on him, but he could already feel his face growing hot. Especially when Gamzee started brushing his lips against the side of Tavros' head, between hair and horn. Giggling into his scalp.

~

The Summoner growled, wings flaring, how DARE that highblood even touch his descendant. HE wasn't fit to touch him. And his descendant, Tav, as the highblood called him, froze in the other's grip, his face gaining a faint brown flush.

He strained against his bonds again.

~

The Grand Highblood grinned wider as he watched his descendant rub himself over the other, releasing pheromones into the air. It smelled delicious. The little brownblood seemed thoroughly uncomfortable. He saw a snap of awareness in those young eyes, and winked at him.

He took another sip from his drink. Go for fucking gold, or continue..?

“Why don't you motherfucking kiss him already.”

He bet they would look delicious together.

“Yeah...that'd be...yeah...” Gamzee muttered, so far gone in his own delusions that he forgot about the lie, forgot to pretend.

Tavros was stiff in his grasp as he bent down and kissed him on his jawline, sleepily. Gamzee thought to himself “Man, this'd be a lot easier if he'd just turn his head.” Then he realized he'd said that out loud, and laughed.

Tavros was caught, his mind was drawing a blank as it frantically worked for a way out of this situation. The Highblood had drugged Gamzee, given him something that was making him act... like this. And from the Highblood's smile, it was obvious that he knew that Tavros knew, and that he knew that he knew that he knew. But Gamzee didn't know and...it was all making Tavros' head spin. He almost found himself wishing Vriska was there, she was always better at playing mental games than he was...but then again, no. He really didn't want Vriska there, he didn't want anyone to see this, even HE didn't want to see this or feel this or know how futile his efforts to fight or ignore it were.

Finally with a little, impatient growl that very unlike him, Gamzee grabbed Tavros' jaw and turned his face by force, capturing his lips in a kiss. Their first. He devoured Tavros' mouth, hungrily probing inside it with his long, slick tongue. He tasted like Faygo and Sopor and it made Tavros want to gag. He clenched his fists and just sat there, waiting for him to finish.

When Gamzee finally did pull away both of their lips were wet and flushed, even bruised. Gamzee nuzzled his wet mouth against Tavros' neck instead and Tavros gasped. Humiliation and desperation filled him, and finally, he moved, finally he reacted. Gamzee sunk his teeth into Tavros' neck and Tavros pushed him, hard. Gamzee toppled backwards, catching himself just before falling off the couch, and climbing back on, giggling madly.

“He he...hey man, I don't feel so...so good...ha haa ha...” He muttered, then his laughter turned into a groan and he began rubbing against the couch he was currently face down on, trying to work up friction between it and himself.

Tavros had shoved himself up against the other side of the couch. His eyes shut tight and he wrapped his arms around himself. This was wrong, this was so wrong...Oh god why was this happening...

~

The Summoner bared his teeth at the Highblood’s suggestion, and how the little Highblood had happily done as suggested, turning his very clumsy attentions onto his descendant. His now thin arms strained as pulled at his bonds.

~

The Grand Highblood snorted at his descendant’s reactions to the drug. He would have to make sure Gamzee recognised the taste of the drug, and several others so he didn’t fucking embarrass himself like this again. He also narrowed his eyes considering. Gamzee was not going to be very coherent for the main event, or co-ordinated for that fucking matter.

He grinned, letting out a laugh as Gamzee almost fell and the broken fly pushed himself to the corner of the couch. It at least gave him an excuse to physically touch the delicious little thing right now. He downed the last of his Faygo and stood, letting it drop empty to the ground.

He made his way to the brownblood, and grinned viciously down before reaching under the little troll’s armpits. He lifted him up, carried and sat him back down on his lap, angling him so his legs were facing towards the mirror and draped them over his thighs.

The fingers of one hand held tightly, maybe even painfully onto the little trolls hair, and yanked his head back. He murmured an ‘open your damn eyes and fucking watch’ to the little troll before turning his attention to his descendant. His other hand grabbed both of Tavros’ wrists, giving a warning squeeze.

“That was a fucking disgrace. Get the fuck up and show me how you fucking kiss your matesprit.”

Tavros had struggled slightly out of impulse and shock when he'd been picked up, but by the time he was seated on the Highblood's lap and his hair was grabbed he had stilled, resisting the urge to fight out of pure self-preservation. His face still burned, his useless legs splayed apart awkwardly like a dolls. He didn't know where to look, he didn't know what to do, and he couldn't look to Gamzee for help this time, because for all intents and purposes the Gamzee he knew was no longer present.

Whatever WAS rolled off the side of the couch and began crawling along the floor towards him. He grabbed at the polka-dotted pants of the Highblood and used them to haul himself up onto his feet. His face close to Tavros' again, his normally friendly grin was now disconcertingly wide, his pupils dilated under heavy eyelids.

“Heey, Tav...wha's gon' on, brother?” He muttered, breath sickly sweet in Tavros' face.

“Gamzee, don't do this. Look at me.” Tavros whispered, trying to find his friend behind the lust-addled troll in front of him.

“I always do, m'therfucker...” Gamzee moved forward and kissed him again. It was different though, it was softer, and somehow...actually kind of nice. But it still made Tavros shudder, he didn't want it do be nice. He didn't want anything about this situation to feel good. He wanted to be back in his hive, alone and safe. He wished he'd said goodbye to Tinkerbull.

Whatever drug Gamzee was on seemed to be waring within him, undecided about whether or not it wanted him to pass out. He kept moving away from kissing Tavros to regain his balance, which was woozy. Eventually one knee gave out and he toppled sideways again, crumpling to a pile at the Grand Highblood's feet, his giggling gave way almost immediately to snoring.

“Pathetic fucking excuse…“ The Highblood mumbled and he nudged his descendant onto his back, dismissively. He would have a lot of fucking work to do. Fucking figured, but where was the fun if things were always easy?

He turned his grin back to the little thing on his lap. He raised the hand holding the wrigglers hands, running a sharp nail along its throat. He grinned down in mock kindness.

“Look at me little one.” He said, dropping the pretense he had kept for Gamzee. The things neck was so small. He would have to get a thinner collar for it.

“I said motherfucking LOOK AT ME.”

Shaking, Tavros tilted his head upwards, aware of how much he was exposing his throat. The nail against it warned of death and part of him said 'you'll suffer less if you die now' but he...he couldn’t do it. He swallowed.

And then he was making eye contact. The Highblood loomed over him, face painted and wild and scarred and like something from the worst nightmares Tavros had ever had. Like a living horrorterror in troll form.

He wanted to look away more than anything, but he kept his eyes open wide until they watered.

He smiled down at the little troll’s face. His fear was delicious and intoxicating. He was nothing like his Ancestor, and he found that he liked that. It definitely made the little thing interesting, even if it was quaking in fear.

“Listen up, I am only going to explain this once for you.” He let the claw tip trace its small jaw, dragging it up to his ear. “Though you look like a smart little motherfucker. I’m sure I won’t have to explain it more than once.”

“You, are going to be my motherfucking pet. “ He stated, going to breathe in deep. It smelled a bit like his little fly, but was still decidedly different. Motherfucking perfect.

“Do not resist me. It will be easier for you. If you want to see what happens when you do, well, you’ll see first hand what fighting back will get you.” He purred out, licking his lips. He didn’t even mind if it did fight him, he loved making the blood flow.

He leaned down and ran his tongue along his jaw, dragging it towards its ear. Motherfuck, he even tasted like him.

“Do you fucking get me, little, little fly?”

Even his ancestor's nickname sounded good on him. He couldn’t help look up at the mirror, hoping he locked eyes with the Summoner. He could almost see him snarling with incoherent rage as he watched his progeny being toyed with.

Tavros shuddered, and kept shuddering, only daring to look down after the Highblood had finished talking. His whole body (apart from his legs) was tense with fear, as a cold slick line was licked across his jaw.

A...a pet? Tavros could guess what it meant, and honestly, he hadn't expected it. He thought that maybe he'd be used, or tortured, then discarded, perhaps to mock Gamzee, perhaps just for the Highblood’s own twisted amusement. A pet...that sounded long term, maybe even permanent.

He didn't know which idea terrified him more.

Still he sucked in a breath and answered quietly, feeling like a wriggler all over again.

“Y-yes. I underst...stand...” His stuttering, which he'd gradually learned to control over many sweeps was suddenly the worst it had ever been. “I w-wont fight you...”

He chuckled, drawing back and looked down at the brownblood. He was rather motherfucking cute, with his shaky voice. He could see WHY his descendant obviously pitied this little thing. He glanced down at the troll at his feet, who slept soundly still. The sound of its snoring didn’t bother him at all, though was starting to drool a bit.

“Good.”

He let himself lay back against the cushions, the hand holding the troll’s hair releasing its grip. It trailed down his back before settling on his hip, holding him in place.

“Now, why don’t you take off that shirt. You won’t be fucking needing it.”

Head down, Tavros slipped out of his over-shirt, then undid the hidden buttons of his t-shirt with shaking fingers. It was like he was in a dream. Like he was looking at the bizarre experience from somewhere else, watching himself remove his clothes and drop them to the floor beside his unconscious friend.

When his chest was bare he wrapped his arms around himself. He was actually pretty proud of his upper body, he'd worked hard to build strength there, to compensate for his disability. Of course, he knew that coupled with the thinness of his legs the muscles of his chest and arms looked strange and unattractive. Nobody had ever seen him with his shirt off before. He supposed this was going to be a night of a lot of firsts...

He shivered again, from fear or cold he couldn't tell. The Highblood was a wall of gelidity behind him.

He watched as the little thing took off it’s shirt. It was built, the muscles thick and defined on its back and arms. There were some muscle groups missing that his ancestor had to support his wings, maybe he would grow them later. When did wings even grow on trolls? Regardless, it still reminded him of when the Summoner was new, when he still had all that delicious muscle. His little fly still had some of it, but nothing like this. He licked his lips.

One hand snapped out, grabbing one arm. “Don’t get all motherfucking SHY on me, show me what you fucking got, and look at me when you do.” His eyes looked over the young Taurus’ horns, at the mirror, his front looked very developed too, they settled on its face in the mirror, waiting for it to raise its eyes. It did double duty, as he knew the Summoner was watching from the other side.

“Why don’t you flex those little arms of yours?”

~

The Summoner yelled, reminded of his own first night with the Highblood, after he’d realized his true nature. It brought tears to his eyes at the memory, from both anger and grief. This was far from over, and that MONSTER was going to drag it out, as long as he could.

He wanted more than anything to hold his little descendant. He wasn’t even full sized yet, his legs hanging oddly, like they were not really attached. Was there something wrong with them?

~

Tavros took another deep breath, wishing that summoning Rufio in his mind still worked. But it was with no confidence that he finally looked up, locking eyes with the Highblood in the dark mirror. Trying to remember the few unfortunate times he'd stumbled across hoofbeast art online, the poses they'd used, he raised his arms. It was terribly awkward trying to flex, act as though he were showing off how big he was when really all he wanted was to make himself as small as possible.

He kept his eyes locked with the Highblood, who at least looked like he was enjoying the show. Tavros hated the want he saw there, but it was better than boredom, with an adult like the Highblood, boredom probably meant death..

He moved his arm sideways to flex from a different position and accidentally slipped forward, the floating feeling of being seated numbly on too-wide legs, and the weight of his horns had unbalanced him. He fell onto his stomach on the Highblood's thighs, catching himself on the cloth of his knees, trying to stay on as he stared at the ground below him.

“S-sorry! Sorry, I'm sorry...” He begged, catching his breath, suddenly terrified he'd messed up badly enough to get culled.

The Highblood couldn’t help the grin as he watched Tavros flex like his life depended on it, which it actually motherfucking did. There was no confidence in its moves, they were shaky and unsure. HAH. Motherfuck this thing was just so pathetic, a tiny little candle compared to its ancestor, how did something like this come from him? Didn’t really matter.

He grunted in mild surprise as it fell, eyes narrowing, the purr he had been letting out changed into a slight growl, though that only lasted a second. It’s pants were riding down, and it looked delicious, doubled over, with its legs splayed on either side oddly. His begging was off putting though.

“Fucking quiet.”

One hand move forwards to pin him down by the middle of his back, the other went to play at the hem of his pants. His eyes caught the other’s legs again.

“What’s wrong with your motherfucking legs, little fly?”

Tavros didn't know why he kept being called 'little fly' but he knew he didn't like it, it felt too intimate, like an inside joke he wasn't a part of. He stopped trying to push himself back up and let himself be pinned down. He shut his eyes. Whatever the Highblood was doing back there he didn't feel it, and he didn't want to know about it.

“I'm p-paralysed.” He replied simply, thinking that for the first time ever, not being able to feel anything from the waist down might be a good thing. He didn't say anything more, the Highblood wouldn't care when or how it happened, he wouldn't care about his struggle to survive or his long process of healing and re-learning how to function. The Highblood didn't pity him, you don't pity your toys when they're broken.

Huh, paralysed. He figured that’s what it was, though his eyes narrowed slightly. Could he even feel anything? A grin spread across his face. Time to find out.

The hand pinning him down moved to his side, the other moving up to help flip the troll onto his back. The legs were completely dead he found, amused with how they flopped. The wrigglers head was above his knees, so he didn’t pay attention to his horns. He moved his legs so they laid against either side of his waist.

“Can you feel anything at all?” He asked, one large hand moving to play with the button of his pants.

Tavros's neck ached with the weight of his horns as they dangled off the other's knees. Self-consciously he tucked himself in closer to the gigantic, cool body. Now he wasn't in pain, but still pathetic and defenseless.

He couldn't stand looking at the Highblood as he began to unbutton his pants. He covered his face with his hands and shook his head 'no' slightly. No, he couldn't feel anything. Not even a twinge of sensation anywhere below his navel, not since the accident...

He grinned at how the other shifted so his horns rested on his knees. He was shivering like a little fucking leaf. Yes, this Tavros was going to be staying for a while, at the very least. He wondered if he would even let it go to his descendant when he was done training it. Speaking of training.

The claw by the edge of his pants dug in harshly, drawing blood. “What did I MOTHERFUCKING SAY ABOUT LOOKING AT ME.” He growled out, shivering in pleasure at the other’s shakes. His bulge was slipping out of its sheathe, curling around his thighs.

Tavros wrenched his hands away and balled them at his sides instead. Forcing his eyes open he stared at the adult who leered down at him. His eyes flicked to his waist and then he wished they hadn't, because his hip was bleeding. It was a shallow cut, but he couldn't feel it, and it made him realize...he might very possibly die tonight, and not even know it was coming. Bleed to death with no pain at all. How would that even feel? What would it be like?

His chest felt tight, and he was so cold. But he kept his eyes open, staring. He wasn't about to close them again.

He smiled down at the little thing. There WAS actual bravery here, even if it was born out of fear, which he could see deliciously reflected back at him in those brown-black eyes. He knew he was a sight to behold, and most hated looking at him, much more his eyes. He licked his lips and kept that eye contact as he watched the tiny trolls hands move.

“Much better. Not so motherfucking HARD is it, little fly? Heh” He imagined that the Summoner was having a fit behind that screen, pulling and tearing at his restraints. It made his bulge pulse with want.

One hand had pulled down the lowblood’s zipper and hooked itself under the hem of both it and his underwear. His other hand clamped around Tavros’ sides. He yanked them down, pulling them down and over the useless legs, lifting and holding the other, claws digging in slightly.

“Keep watching me motherfucker.” He said as his gaze went to inspect the other’s lower body.

The legs were weak looking, the muscle atrophied and thin. They also hadn’t grown with the rest of him. He would definitely have to fix this. He sneered at the legs, taking one and re-adjusting them on either side of his waist. 

“Motherfucking disgusting. Gonna have to get you a new set, if I want to motherfucking keep you.” He was going to regardless, but the little shit didn’t need to know that.

He got a good look at the other’s crotch. It looked fairly normal, oddly enough. There was a bit of pudge around the hips, but that actually looked kind of good. He brought one finger to trace at the other’s nook and played along the edges, his gaze went back up to see if there was a reaction.

~

The Summoner wanted to throw up, wanted to look away, but he refused to. He grit his teeth and watched as his descendant was violated. He was strong, even if he was just following orders. He had seen others the bigger troll had brought to play with shiver and cry uncontrollably when the night went like this, ones that were higher, and so called ‘better’.

He could at least remind him, that he was strong, when it was over. 

If the Highblood let his poor descendant survive.

~

Tavros flinched when the Highblood mocked him, but in the end it wasn't anything he didn't already kn-

What, had he just said new legs?

Tavros watched as the highblood positioned him and started...touching him, in ways he couldn't feel but still somehow made him sick to his digestive food sack. But it didn't matter, he had another thought in his mind now, something that distracted him for the horror of his present reality, even as he made sure to keep his eye on the Highblood's every awful action.

He might get new legs? As in legs that actually worked? He had seen the robotic arm Equius built for Vriska, he knew it was possible, but a lowblood like him would never have the influence to afford something like that. But the Highblood, he'd said he would...if he decided to keep him.

Getting legs meant he could walk, and run, and maybe, escape. He was strong, if he could walk he stood a chance, at the very least. Then maybe he could actually join Karkat and the others who'd gone AWOL before conscription day? Maybe, it was a long shot but at the moment it was all Tavros had.

So strange, an hour ago he'd been resigned to his death, but now that some hope for life had returned, he didn't want to let it go.

In a second Tavros decided, he'd do whatever he had to, play any role this monster wanted, if it meant he could walk again. Be useful again. He kept his eyes forward, and even his shuddering stopped for the most part, as he let the Highblood's fingers explore him without fuss.

The Highblood smiled down at the face of the lowblood as it settled into a determined state. How interesting. He accepted his fate, much more quickly than his Ancestor did. He didn’t even bother holding the troll down.

His free hand went about stroking the little fly’s chest, dragging his claw tips along vestigial grub legs that stood out on its gray skin, watching every shiver and shake he made, licking his lips.

His other fingers had slipped into the other’s nook, it seemed moist at least, like things might still be working. It was tight though, and warm. He groaned at the thought of entering that deliciously tight nook. He pushed in further, going up to his knuckle, and moving it around inside. It seemed to be mostly developed, it should be able to hold him without bursting at least. He chuckled darkly.

“You ever pailed anyone?”

Tavros shook his head, blinking furiously as his eyes watered. He didn't know what was worse, watching the Highblood's hideous face observe him like a tasty piece of meat, or hearing the wet squelching sounds of those gigantic fingers moving inside of him. He couldn't feel it, but they looked much too big, and Tavros knew better than to hope he wouldn't tear or bleed.

He was glad for one thing at least, his own bulge was staying sheathed, as dead to the world as his legs. He didn't know if he could have stood the embarrassment of his body betraying him, on top of everything else.

He would be the fly’s first, how sweet. He was somewhat disappointed that his little pet’s bulge wasn’t making itself known, or that the little body under him couldn’t even feel what he was doing. There were other ways to make him react though.

He narrowed his eyes, dragging one of his claws on the other’s chest a little deeper, drawing thin lines of blood. A warning growl coming from his throat.

“What was that motherfucker? I can’t hear you.”

~

The Summoner made a whine in the back of his throat. His descendant hadn’t even pailed someone before. His poor, poor wriggler. He turned his angry fiery gaze back upon the Highblood, hands fisting in the chains on his wrists, knuckles popping.

He was going to make him regret he ever touched his descendant, he was going to, even if it was the last thing he did.

~

Tavros grunted a little in pain as the claws dug into his chest. His blush was rising again, he tried to control the shaking in his arms but it was no use.

“N-no. I've never uhh, pailed anyone, before.” He stuttered. He wished he was braver, like Pupa Pan, or like his ancestor was. He'd settle for even just SOUNDING brave, instead of like a weak, pitiful little wriggler.

The Highblood grinned and leaned over, licking the blood up gently with his tongue. He tasted more fresh than his other pet did, it was delicious. He purred in appreciation, showing his teeth off to the young wriggler.

“Completely innocent too, I bet.”

He took the fingers out of the other’s nook, he rubbed them together admiring the brown genetic lubricant. He couldn’t tell if it was blood, or the natural lubricant even dead parts had apparently. He brought the fingers up to the other’s mouth.

“Clean off your disgusting brown shit.”

Tavros instinctively leaned away when the large, wet fingers neared his mouth, but disobeying direct orders was not a good idea. He opened his mouth, and almost choked when the Highblood pushed inside. The taste was strange, and unpleasant, but he diligently took it all.

He kept his eyes locked with the Highblood as he cleaned the slick from the pads of his fingers and under his claws, tasting himself on top of dirt and blood and sugar. He gagged a few times, but he didn't falter, didn't move away, and to his credit, hadn't cried yet.

He watched with a growing grin as the other cleaned off his own juices from his fingers. He was careful of his teeth, even when he pushed his fingers in far, making the little thing gag. 

He liked the feeling of that throat contracting around his fingers, it felt good. He pulled them out anyway, dragging his claws along the other's tongue. He was mildly impressed with how well the little thing cleaned it all up.

“Good job little fly, you’re good with that little mouth of yours aren’t you? Are you SURE you haven’t pailed someone before?” He smiled as he leaned forwards, kissing the smaller mouth savagely. His mouth easily covered the other’s, his tongue forcing its way in, tasting the tang of the little troll.

He forced his tongue farther in, coiling around the tongue it found. He gave a warning growl, he wanted some reciprocation, where was the fun if the players didn’t participate?

Tavros had barely had a chance to swallow his own saliva and catch his breath before his mouth was invaded again. The tongue tasted even more strongly of blood than the fingers, and his mouth was full of the sensation now. The large troll invaded all of his senses, he could smell the pheromones dripping off his body, feel his mane of wild hair, so much like Gamzee's, brushing against his horns. It was overwhelming and his hands clenched into fists at his sides, even as he tried to kiss back. Was this even a kiss? It didn't feel like one, it felt more like the Highblood was trying to suck out his soul.

And he was much, much too close. Tavros had to close his eyes, hoping that his pathetic attempts to reciprocate would be enough to distract the Highblood. He rubbed his own, much smaller tongue against the Highbloods, and moved his lips against the other in the way he'd seen people kiss each-other in the movies, but he felt tragically inadequate against the size and ferocity of the Highblood.

He grinned as his new little fly moved his tongue in response. He was a delicious little thing. He looked up, at the mirror, and missed the other closing his eyes. I am making your little descendant respond, is that making your blood boil little fly, my precious fly?

He chuckled as he pulled back. The kid lacked finesse, but, that could be improved upon, with time. They had all the time right now. His tongue was the last to come out, dragging itself on the other’s lips, leaving a wet tail of saliva. He let it trail a bit along his cheek as well.

He wasn’t angry when he saw that the little brown blood had closed his eyes, but he grabbed one horn, and craned his neck to the side. You couldn’’t let pets get into bad habits now, it was the sign of a bad motherfucking OWNER.

“WHAT DID I FUCKING SAY ABOUT LOOKING AWAY YOU LITTLE SHIT?”

Tavros' eyes snapped open and he gasped, then coughed. His jaw felt sore and his throat raw. And now his horn pulsed with pain.

“Sorry.” He panted, it was difficult to talk when staring into those fierce, indigo eyes. Like staring down the barrel of a rifle.

He smiled, and patted the troll with his free hand on that face.

“That’s motherfucking better. Fucking keep your goddamn eyes on me, or I might decide you won’t be motherfucking needing them.” He threatened, staring back into said eyes. He couldn’t help but let out a purr.

He released the wriggler’s horn and grabbed him beneath the armpits, and pulled him away, spreading his own thighs and letting the troll’s lower body fall into the air. He lowered him, gently, gently, down onto the ground.

The brownblood was tall enough that he wasn’t hanging by his horns at least. He couldn’t help but smile, he was cute down there. He let one hand rest idly on one horn, nails digging lightly at the bone, and spread his legs wider.

“Why don’t we put your miraculous tongue to better use, huh motherfucker?” 

Tavros lets himself be lowered to the floor in confusion. It wasn't until the Highblood instructed him to, well...that he understood. He arranged his legs underneath him so they wouldn't get in the way, then he just, sat there, for a minute. Face only a few inches away from the Highblood's crotch. Beneath the fabric of he could already see a bulge shifting, and the smell of sex coming off of him, heady and rich.

Tavros felt completely out of his depth, but he reached for the the button and interlocking metal teeth at the waistband and undid them slowly. A little shocked and embarrassed, though he shouldn’t have been, when he saw the Highblood wasn't wearing underwear. His large, flushed bulge squirmed out of his waistband, leaving wet lines on his stomach. He couldn't get to the nook from the angle, but maybe the Highblood would be fine with him just...

He leaned forward slowly, and with a few false starts, and captured the tip of the bulge in his mouth, careful of his teeth. He kept his eyes open and tried not to think about what he was doing. The bulge was cool and slick, and eager, it slid further into his mouth of its own volition, doing most of the work for him. Immediately his mouth felt used and disgusting, but he tried his best the swipe his tongue along the underside of the length as it pushed further and further into his throat, going deeper than the the other's tongue had. Tavros kept having to stop himself from backing up.

He swallowed around the slick organ and tried to open his mouth further, careful of the teeth, careful not to gag, or do anything that might offend the Highblood. His eyes were watering again, he was having a hard time not wishing he were dead, or that he couldn't feel anything at all.

Think of the legs, he repeated in his mind like a lifeline. Think of the legs.

He groaned as the kid started to take him in. Motherfuck was he ever delicious. He didn’t take his eyes off the kid ONCE, watched every little move and wince it made. Kid had natural talent, maybe there was some transcendent knowledge. HAH.

He groaned, eyes rolling back in his head, when his bugle started wriggling into the tight throat. Yes, that felt good. This one could probably make him pail with just his mouth. 

“Heh, eager little motherfucker, aren’t you? Didn‘t even have to tell you what to even motherfucking do.”

He petted the head with his hands, letting them trail over his horns, nails digging slightly into the horn bed, and lightly pulled on his hair.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were motherfucking enjoying this. Are you fucking enjoying this little fly?” He rolled his hips when he asked, making himself go in deeper, stretching the mouth and throat, blocking his air. He held it for a few seconds before gripping those oh so handy horns and pulled him off, letting him gasp for a few seconds before shaking him slightly.

“Well, motherfucker? Tell me you like it.”

~

The Summoner was crying, for his descendant and how things were so fucked up that something like this was allowed to happen. If he had succeeded, if he had won his fight against the tyranny, this wouldn’t have happened, nothing like this would ever fucking HAPPEN.

~

Tavros coughed and tried nodding but he felt like throwing up. So he just coughed and hacked until he could no longer feel the ghost of the bulge in his throat. He'd been afraid he would suffocate, and now his face was burning in shame.

He looked up. And winced, following the motions of his horns so they wouldn't be stressed, but it still hurt.

“I...” He began. Tears pin-pricking and escaping the corners of his eyes, sliding down his cheeks. “I like it.” His voice was raspy and wretched.

The Highblood’s bulge pulsed, twining around itself as he looked down on that ruined, weeping face. It was like all those sweeps ago, when he had just filed down the Summoners teeth to useless flats and torn out his nails. The only difference was that now there was fear whereas then there had been anger. He looked fucking delicious, and he couldn’t wait anymore.

He grinned viciously. “I knew you would, my little wingless fly.” He said as he picked him up by the horns, bringing him closer so he could lick up those delicious brown tears.

“Did you know, your Ancestor lasted so much longer than you. It took me motherfucking SWEEPS to get him to tell me he liked it. HEH. It took you only one motherfucking NIGHT. Not even that.”

He grinned full on in the troll’s face before spinning him around, mindful of those gloriously huge horns. Should he get rid of them? No, probably not, they were good handle bars. He forced the other to lay back on him, his unfeeling ass resting on his navel, just above his groin, where his bulge wriggled. He wrapped one arm around his waist to secure him in place.

“Reach back and hold onto my hair, but don’t you motherfucking pull on it.” He grinned savagely, looking over the lowblood to catch his eyes in the mirror. With his other free hand, he guided his bulge towards the nook, and watched it start to sink in.

Tavros made no movement, he didn't reach up to grab the Highblood’s hair when he was instructed to. He'd even stopped crying in the shock of what the Highblood said.

His ancestor? No...no, it wasn't true, to couldn't be. He was weak, but his ancestor was...was strong...

But, he'd been captured. Presumed dead. Was he here, then? Was he one of the Highblood's pets as well? No, he must be dead by now, but he had been, once, or was the Highblood just trying to destroy him further?

He'd been so lost in his thoughts, in his absolute horror of revelation that he didn't notice the Highblood penetrating him at first. When finally his eyes focused on his own image in the mirror and he saw himself being stretched open, did he snap back to reality.

“W-wait...” he managed to squeak out, forgetting himself. His eyes were wide and his body felt stiff and invisible, as if it didn't belong to him. Maybe he was in shock? His hands were shaking but they still reached down like a fool and tugged futilely at the bulge moving deeper inside him. It felt like he was watching a scene from a horror movie. He could see it happening, but he couldn't feel it, and his reactions felt wrong, all wrong. This was so wrong, he wasn’t...he could't...

Suddenly the Highblood hit something deep, very deep. So deep that Tavros could feel it. He could FEEL it.

He opened his mouth and screamed, his body began thrashing, his hands clawing at anywhere he could reach, trying to get away.

He was tighter than he thought, and warm, so motherfucking warm, the little shitblood tugging on his bulge did not fucking add to it though. The Highblood growled, eyes flashing as the thing in his lap started to thrash, raking him with his little claws. What the motherfuck was his problem?

“CALM THE FUCK DOWN.” He roared at a particularly deep scrape on his thighs. “ENOUGH.”

His hands snapped out, each grabbing one small wrist in his over sized hands and yanked them away from his body, into the air, restricting the movement of his torso. It didn’t stop him from thrashing. He didn’t want to deal with this shit. He heaved the little body to the side, pushing the wriggler onto his stomach, pulling out a little as he did so.

The thing’s horns had landed oddly, one caught on the top of the couch, forcing his head sideways. He brought up the hands he held together under his stomach, letting one of his hands trap both of the other’s. His now free one gripped the back of the lowblood’s head, pushing it farther into the couch, making those horns groan. 

“I said, CALM THE MOTHERFUCK DOWN, OR WILL I HAVE TO DISIPLINE A LITTLE SHITBLOOD?”

Tavros' screams gave way to sobbing as he tried to reposition his horns, but it was no use, there was too much pressure on his head. If the Highblood pushed hard enough he could fracture his skull or crack his horns. Which was one of the worst things that could happen to a psychic troll. Tavros took a few sobbing breaths, trying to calm down enough to placate the Highblood, but he was so scared, and he could still feel the pressure deep in his abdomen that reminded him the Highblood was still inside him.

He relaxed his limbs but he couldn’t stop crying, though it was only quiet, shaky sobs now. As he was facing the couch, he allowed himself to close his eyes, dripping translucent brown tears onto the purple couch cushions.

The Grand Highblood released the pressure off the little thing’s head, bit by bit and his free hand went to the shitblood’s waist, lifting him back up, letting him slip in deeper into that hot, tight space. 

“There you motherfucking go, you little shit.” He rumbled, trailing off into a groan. Motherfuck, did he ever feel good.

His one leg braced itself on the floor and he wriggled to get the other under him, in a half crouch. 

“Almost had to scar a mother fucker. Don’t want to do that too motherfucking soon.”

He started to move, continuing his commentary, “I like every little fucking scar to mean something, but if you do that again, I will fucking flay your goddamn back. Do you FUCKING HEAR ME?”

Tavros continued to be wracked with sobs, his body bent awkwardly. He moaned when he felt the Highblood move even deeper inside him. This worst thing was, if this had been someone else, someday when he was ready, under the right circumstances... it might have felt good. The surprise at feeling some sexual sensation would have been a good one, not simply another added humiliation on top of the countless others he'd faced, not only tonight, but throughout his entire life.

He moaned through his sobs as the Highblood plowed in and out of him, the tip of his bulge hitting deep every time. His head was ringing, everything he could feel hurt.

Then, suddenly, he glanced sideways and saw Gamzee's body, it was starting to move, he'd almost forgotten he was there. He watched in mortification as Gamzee groaned and began to lift himself up on his elbows. He turned his head, blinking blearily. 

Their eyes locked.


	3. Chapter 3

“What...what in the motherfuck...” Gamzee voice was still slurred, but he didn't look quite so drugged. It was like his brain was whirring madly under layers of fog, trying to comprehend what it was seeing. “...Tavros?”

Tavros was shamed beyond expression, and with a particularly deep thrust from the Highblood he gasped and his forehead fell forward onto the arm of the couch, finally breaking his stare with Gamzee. He shut his eyes tight again, he didn't want Gamzee to see this, but he was powerless to stop it.

The Grand Highblood glanced over at the sound. Drugs seemed to go through his descendant's system unusually fast, interesting.

“'Bout time you came back to the living, runt.” He didn't stop moving as he talked, watching his descendant. 

He leaned over the little lowblood, and gripped his horn, forcing him bend up slightly. Motherfuck did he love the sounds his new little pet was making. “You like him watching you, don't you little fly?”

He gripped the horn tighter, nails digging into the side of the lowblood's head in warning.

“Look at him, for me. You can imagine its your 'matesprit' if you want to.” He laughed, thrusting harder, enunciating the word matesprit like it was a motherfucking joke.

Tavros choked out a sob and forced himself to look at Gamzee. Whose usual smile was missing under a mask of incomprehension.

Gamzee's head pounded, he felt as if he were coming down from a terrible sopor hangover, but even worse was the pain in his chest as the scene before him came into focus. At first he couldn't believe what he was seeing, Tavros bent double on the couch and...Gamzee swallowed and blinked sleep out of his eyes. The Grand Highblood was...his own motherfucking ancestor was pailing Tavros, right there, in front of him. Thrusting violently while Tavros cried and his legs crumpled underneath their bodies. And his chest was bleeding, there was brown blood everywhere, staining the fabric with its miraculous colour, dripping from Tavros' naked skin...

He was frozen in shock, then Tavros made a noise, across between a sob and a moan, and Gamzee realized, he was staring at him. Their eyes locked, and there was so much motherfucking pain there...

Something snapped in Gamzee and in a second he was on his feet, dislodging a club from his strife specibus, the pounding in his head had turned into screaming, into manic laughter, which he realized, was coming from him. Still not completely conscious, but aware in the sharp light of adrenaline he charged, leaping at the Grand Highblood and bringing his club down in a full force swing.

Tavros watched, terrified, as it happened. Gamzee's eyes were darkening and then suddenly he was a charging, screaming mass of grinning fangs and flailing clubs.

The Grand Highblood let go of the lowblood's waist in an instant, letting him drop a bit underneath him, and grabbed the club wielding arm. He directed Gamzee to fall into the couch, toppled over the little lowblood. His other hand had released the lowblood’s horn during this and had grabbed his descendant's hair, pushing his head into the cushion and making the lowblood carry his weight as well, forcing him off most of his bulge. He groaned in frustration, letting his own chucklevoodoo's sing, directed at his descendant.

“What, the MOTHERFUCK, do you think you are DOING small fry?”

Gamzee's vision was red as he clawed and thrashed, when he came in contact with Tavros's warm, sweat slicked skin he tried to scamper backwards as if burned, but was held fast. Then he felt it, the singing in his head. The Highblood’s chucklevoodoos mixing with his own, singing gloriously inside his skull, rattling between his horns and feeling SO MOTHERFUCKING GOOD even as they filled him with a fear that felt more like rage.

“Get off him, brother. Get the MOTHERFUCK OFF TAVROS right MOTHERFUCKING NOW.” He screamed into the couch cushion and tried bucking the Highblood off of him.

Tavros could no longer feel the Highblood inside him, but his full weight was crushing against his neck and head, and the added weight of Gamzee had knocked the wind out of him, he hacked and coughed. Gamzee's eyes flicked to him in concern momentarily, before returning its full force glare out of the corner of his eyes at the Highblood.

“I will motherfucking kill you, motherfucker. I WILL MOTHERFUCKING KILL YOU, MOTHERFUCKER!” He screamed and thrashed. He tried moving toward the Highblood as he did, to take some weight off of Tavros, and to move away from his heated back. At the same time he felt his bulge moving traitorously in his pants, trying to get closer.

He snorted, holding his descendant and sneered, “I highly doubt that, motherfucker.” 

He would have a motherfucking LOT to ground into this wriggler’s stupid fucking head. He sneered, but a scent made him pause, eyes narrowing in curiosity. He moved in closer, and breathed in, smelling the pheromones that were drifting off his descendant.

“You sure you don't want to join in motherfucker. I can smell those pheromones on you, smell how much you fucking WANT to put your bulge in that tight fucking nook”

He let go of his descendant's hair and instead went for his free hand and pulled him backwards to his chest, locking his descendant's arms in front of him, leaving only his legs free. He pulled back from the lowblood, letting his bulge slide the rest of the way out. 

It left a clear view of the gaping hole of his nook, translucent brown and purple leaking out and down the brownblood’s useless legs. He grinned over the top of Gamzee’s head.

“Look motherfucker, he's leaking like a goddamn water faucet. He's fucking enjoying it, aren’t you motherfucker?” One of his clawed feet reached up, tapping the brownblood on the arm.

~

The Summoner had stared incredulously as the Grand Highblood's descendant charged his ancestor. He snorted when he was easily captured. Highbloods were notoriously defensive of what they believed was 'theirs', and the descendant, Gamzee, believed Tavros, his little Tavros, to be his.

It made him sick to his stomach. He body was getting sore, from how tensed it was, and his wrists were bleeding. It wouldn't be enough to slide his hands free from the cuffs, he knew, he couldn't say how many times he had rubbed his wrists to the bone trying.

He only kept staring at his little broken descendant’s face.

~

Gamzee couldn't look away, even if his head wasn’t being kept in place. Tavros' body shook before him, open and raw. His nook was stretched open, dripping and twitching and Gamzee's bulge throbbed as he watched it. A feral purr rose in Gamzee's chest and, disgusted by himself, he shut his eyes.

“You're motherfucking sick.” He whispered. Not sure if he was talking to the Highblood or himself.

Tavros took a few deep breaths, trying to crawl away. His face was tear-stained but he had stopped crying, he didn't want to look behind him and see what was happening, he just wanted to get away, to sleep, or better yet wake up, somewhere far, far away.

“Sick? No motherfucker, I'm just taking my dues.” He felt the other move underneath his chin. “Guess I'm going to have to fucking teach you some shit right the fuck now, since your fucking lusus must have been a pathetic waste of space.”

“Your 'matesprit', big righteous laugh there, by the way, if you honestly thought I bought that, you are a dumber motherfucker than I thought. But look, he's a brown blood, a fucking lowblood, just here to fucking serve us however we want him to. WE ARE HIGHER THAN EVERYONE ELSE. Motherfucker would have been killed, with those useless fucking legs of his. This motherfucker should be thanking me. If I didn't want him, he would have been culled in those fields along with the other drone bait.”

The Grand Highblood saw the lowblood move away and he growled, bringing up the foot he had been touching the lowblood with, and pinned him, bringing his heel down a bit more forcefully than he probably needed to. 

“Did I say you could motherfucking MOVE? No, stay right the fuck there until I fucking give you PERMISSION. Fucking answer with your voice, I know you have one.”

Tavros gasped when his back was kicked but he didn't say a word. He was done. He lay face down on the couch and sniffed, eyes shut tight.

Gamzee had his eyelids lowered. It wasn't true, what the Highblood said, he'd never thought he was better than Tavros, or anybody, not ever. Sometimes, when he hadn't had a pie in a while, the voices lied, said awful things, but none of them were true. The only thing that was true was that he pitied Tavros, more than he'd ever pitied anybody. He loved him, even if Tavros didn't love him back, and he wanted to save him now, to fly in like Pupa Pan, a big motherfuckin' hero, but he wasn't strong enough. There was no way he could stand up the the Grand Highblood physically, but that didn't mean he was about to give in.

“You're wrong.” He spat. “Don't fuckin' listen to him Tavros. YOU AIN'T NOBODY'S MOTHERFUCKIN' PROPERTY no matter what he’s done.” Gamzee said, his voice low and warning, arms tensing in the Highblood's grip. “And if you're gonna be cullin' my bro you better CULL MY ASS TOO, because I won't ever, EVER forgive you for this shit. I don't care who you are, I don't care if you're the high motherfucking mirthful messiah himself, I WILL KILL YOU AND PAINT THE WALLS WITH MY OWN MOTHERFUCKING SHADE, MOTHERFUCKER.”

Tavros tried shaking his head, tried saying 'No', anything. But he was broken, his body and mind unmoving with grief and pain. Gamzee was going to get them both killed, and it wasn't worth it. HE wasn't worth it.

~

The Summoner started frowning slightly as the highblood youth struggled and snarled in his ancestor’s grasp, not quite understanding WHY he was saying what he was. All of the highbloods he had met thought exactly like the Grand Highblood, like they were all so much better. That the Grand Highblood's own descendant didn't... it was hard to believe. There had been others, other descendants that had come and gone, and they all had believed the same piece of SHIT their ancestor did.

Perhaps this Gamzee was different, but it didn't matter in the end, He was still a highblood, which meant he was dangerous, and however good his intentions were sooner or later he’d show his true nature. The Summoner had to get Tavros away, from both of them.

~

The Grand Highblood snarled over his descendant's head. 

“You don't have the motherfucking ability BROTHER.” He growled, and switched his descendant's arms to one hand, leaving his outer one free. “I guess I'm going to have to teach you a motherfucking lesson.”

“If you want to put yourself on a rustblood's level...” He moved his hand down, dragging his hand over his descendant’s clothed crotch and tore it easily, splitting it at the seam with a clawed tip. “I'm going to motherfucking USE you like one.”

He guided his bulge into the others nook, feeling his descendant stretch around him. He didn't doubt that it was painful, he hadn't stretched him out, but he would have to learn his fucking place. His descendant was nowhere fucking NEAR able to make threats at him.

Gamzee screamed and tried to get away, snarling and spitting like a beast. MOTHERFUCK it hurt, hurt so bad and felt so motherfucking WRONG. Like he was being torn up inside, The Highblood's bulge drove deep, stretching him until he could feel his own blood running down his thighs.

Tavros was shocked into moving by Gamzee's scream, he pulled himself up onto his arms, which felt weak and fuzzy, but he couldn't do much more. By the howls of pain behind him he could imagine what was happening, and Gamzee didn't even have the benefit of being mostly numb from the waist down. He shouldn't have fought, he shouldn't have stood up for him. Gamzee was always standing up for him, and looking out for him and making sure he was happy and safe and this was what had finally come of it. They'd both have been better off if he'd died in the field.

Gamzee was so trusting and honest, and kind and...the best friend Tavros had ever had. He didn't deserve this.

“Stop, p-please he...he didn't mean it. It's m-my fault...please...” Tavros called, not quite looking over his shoulder, his voice shook, but he tried to make himself heard above Gamzee's screams.

The Grand Highblood stopped moving, letting his bulge just wriggle around. He could feel the blood drip down his legs, onto his own nook, and onto the couch. He narrowed his eyes at the rustblood, a small grin coming back onto his face.

“...What was that, little fucking fly? Turn around and SPEAK UP.”

Tavros summoned all of his courage, which at the moment was still barely enough to turn around on the couch and face the Highblood. He winced at what he saw, Gamzee was crushed in the large troll’s arms, lines of indigo running down his face and inner thighs, pooling on the couch thickly. It was horrible, but he didn't look away, he forced himself to stare straight into the Highblood’s vicious, unfeeling eyes.

“Let him go.” He said. “Take me, instead, if you have to, just...let him go. Please.”

Gamzee shook his head, swallowing around thick tears.

“No...no...” He muttered, words were failing him. The bulge inside him burned and twisted up his insides as it moved, if he opened his mouth any more he'd probably throw up.

The Grand Highblood looked down smiling at the little troll viciously, he made a show of putting his ear closer to his descendant's mouth. 

“What's that Gamzee, no? You don't want me to leave your nook?”

He laughed leaning back and continued conversationally. “But your little 'matesprit' wants to join in. Oh, what shall we do to include this precious little motherfucker?” He shifted again, one hand moving to spread his descendant's legs. His fingers wandered to where his descendant’s bulge was half sheathed. 

“Oh, I motherfucking know. Why don't you take his bulge in your miraculous little talented mouth? He seems like he's not feeling all the motherfucking miracles.” He gently ran his fingers along the purple tinted bulge.

Tavros halted, this isn't what he wanted. Gamzee was still hurt, he was still bleeding and, maybe seriously injured. He stared up at Gamzee, who only stared back down at him with eyes clouded from pain.

But if he refused, how much worse would the Grand Highblood make things for them? Tavros didn't know what to do.

Slowly, uncertainly, he crawled forward. His whole body was stiff as he positioned himself between Gamzee's legs. From here he could see just how injured Gamzee really was. Blood was drying black around his nook, which was stretched beyond capacity. Was Tavros just as torn, but couldn't feel it? He shuddered.

Gamzee's bulge was mostly sheathed, just the first few inches still out, squirming slightly. He reached out a hand and touched it, coaxing it forward. Compared to the Highblood's it was much smaller, thinner. 

“Tav...” Gamzee's voice said above him.

Tavros didn’t say anything, didn’t look at Gamzee, just took the bulge in his mouth, and began to suck gently.

Gamzee moaned at the first spark of pleasure he'd felt all night, but it made his nook tighten which sent off spasms of pain. He threw his head back and shut his eyes, caught between the two opposite sensations. He tried to focus on Tavros' mouth, the slick, soft heat, but it was like trying to catch the single butterfly in a swarm of stingcreatures.

The Grand Highblood moved his hand away, letting the lowblood take over. He loomed over Gamzee, interestedly looking at what the smaller troll was doing. He felt his own bulge pulse and he purred as Gamzee tightened around it in reflex to being stimulated.

He let out a rumbled purr, his one free hand going down to pet the lowblood gently on the head, playing with his hair.

“You see descendant, he knows his place, serving us, like it motherfucking SHOULD be.” He gave the young troll a bit of a pat.

He looked out of the corner of his eye at the two way mirror, grinning triumphantly.

~

The Summoner felt he was going to be sick, as he watched his descendant participate. It wasn't the first time the Highblood had pailed one of his own descendants, just about every troll seemed to do so if they were able, but for the first time, as far as the Summoner knew, he was taking his own descendant against its will.

He wasn't surprised, but they were both just so young... 

There were no depths that monster would not sink beneath.

~

Gamzee whimpered, and bucked forward into Tavros' mouth, who didn't react except to open wider and take more of Gamzee in. It felt kind of disgusting to think that maybe the Highblood was right and he did actually have a natural talent for this. He tried not to dwell on it and just focused on getting Gamzee off, maybe then he'd relax and be in less pain? Tavros really had no idea what he was doing, he doubted anything would help either of them at this point. 

The bulge in his mouth was rubbery and slick, the indigo liquid covering it was sweeter than the Highblood's had been (Tavros hated that he knew enough to compare the two) and had a row of ridges along the underside which tickled his tongue. It was odd, but at least it was a distraction from the mockingly tender stroking of his hair, and at least he was pretty sure he pitied Gamzee now, at least a little, though what kind of pity it was, Tavros didn't know. It didn't matter, he guessed, he wasn't ever paling anyone again after this. Not ever.

Gamzee was in the middle of too much sensation to have much of a thought process at all, he just moaned, and occasionally cried out when the Highblood would shift inside him. But he did finally pail, in a crash that wracked his whole body with convulsions and made him arch his back. His horns hitting the Highblood's collarbones.

Tavros gagged, and for a second was unsure if pulling away would get in in trouble, but he found it was a moot point because there was far too much genetic material coming far too fast and there was no way he could swallow it all. He backed off gasping, mouth dripping. While Gamzee emptied the rest of his release onto the couch between them. His orgasm had left him completely boneless and he slumped against the Highblood, sniffing and twitching with aftershocks.

The Highblood groaned at the sudden tightness on his bulge, and the image of that much genetic material dripping out of the rustblood’s mouth, that was so motherfucking delicious. He wondered if it was his descendant’s first time ever pailing anyone, or having someone suck him off. With how fast he had finished, he would say motherfucking yes.

It was almost painful inside Gamzee now, but he stayed put, he wasn’t that close to pailing yet. He added stamina to the list of things he would instil in his descendant. He let himself recline a bit more easily, half resting on the back of the couch and half on the armrest.

A deep purr rumbled in his throat as he petted the lowblood. His hand drifted down to the side of his face, gripping his chin, smearing some of the purple genetic material. “Heh. You look motherfucking good with that colour on you. You got it everywhere though, motherfucker.”

His hand gripped a bit more firmly on his horn, urging him forwards. “You got it all over my fucking descendant and me. Clean it up.”

Tavros followed the pull of his horns with a wince. He was pretty sure he knew what the Highblood meant for him to do, he was so tired though, his jaw ached and he just wanted to curl up somewhere and fall asleep and never wake up. But instead he just put his lips to Gamzee's indigo-splattered, twitching thighs and began licking them clean. At least both of the capricorns were mostly clothed but it was a long and degrading process none-the-less.

Gamzee was down from his aftershocks now and had curled forward, into himself, the Highblood no longer had his arms around him, but the pain still lancing deep inside him kept him in place. He occasionally released little honking sobs as he watched Tavros clean him, and then the Highblood in turn. Mostly he watched Tavros' face, he didn't mean to embarrass him further, but he couldn't help it.

Tavros's lips and chin were covered in his colour, it dripped all the way down his front. His skin was damp with sweat and it made his hair stick out oddly. Gamzee felt the warmth of his tongue on his pants and wanted to reach out and touch him, hold him maybe. He didn't feel any sexual pleasure at the idea, as spent and miserable as he was, but he couldn't help wanting it anyway. Couldn't help still wanting him.

~

The Summoner was gagging, having finally looked away, rather than watch the young version of himself clean up the highbloods mess, as he himself had been forced to do countless times.

~

The Highblood watched the little lowblood clean his descendant up. Motherfuck, was he good at following orders, and good with his tongue. He rubbed his thumb around the sharp ridge, nails catching on the unevenness of the horns.

His bulge hadn’t stopped moving, it was pushing in and out languidly inside his descendant, who was still limp above him. He didn’t want to hurt his descendant, not permanently, anyway, but he was ready for some hard fucking. 

Letting his descendant go was out of the option, lest he recover enough to attempt to fuck him over again. He grinned down at the little lowblood between his legs, pushing him back.

He stood, slipping Gamzee off of his bulge, and laid him down, gently, onto the couch. He held him in place with one hand on his chest and moved his limbs where he wanted them, legs spread.

“Get on his lap, back to his motherfucking chest and hold your legs open.” He snapped at the Lowblood.

Tavros looked concernedly at Gamzee, who now lay spread and empty before him. He was shaking, the Highblood's sudden movements had triggered another rush of blood which seeped slowly out of him and onto the couch to mingle with his genetic material. If he was injured internally, Tavros didn't want to put pressure on his wounds. But he did it anyway. He did what he was told and moved towards Gamzee. On weak arms he turned his back to him and hauled himself up onto his lap. He tried to be gentle but Gamzee still grunted in discomfort when he lay down on top of him, tucking the his head under Gamzee’s chin.

Ashamed at how readily he was complying, Tavros grabbed his legs under the knee, one in each hand and pulled them upward and apart, his arms were weak and they shook so badly he wasn't sure if he could keep them up for long...

Suddenly a cool hand was brushing one of his aside. Gamzee shuddered underneath him but held his leg open more firmly than Tavros could have, it was easier just focusing on holding one.

“I'm sorry....” Gamzee whispered into his hair, so quietly he barely hear it. Not bothering to look at the Grand Highblood to see if he was watching, Tavros moved his free hand to his side and felt around until his warm fingers clasped with Gamzee's cold, shaking ones, interlocking on his chest.

“It's okay.” He replied. A lie, but it didn't matter.

The Grand Highblood watched, how motherfucking sweet. These two may just really have been matesprits, in time. He wasted no more though and, using one hand to help, lined his bulge with the nook sitting open and still leaking in front of him.

He groaned, sheathing himself inside in one easy slide. It was nice and slick still. He braced both arms on either side of the two below him on the couch, digging his nails in as he started to pick up his pace almost immediately, pushing them together with his thrusts.

He let out a growl, motherfuck yesssss, head thrown back. The heat of a lowblood always felt good, so motherfucking GOOD.

Tavros bit his lip to keep from crying out, but kept his eyes open, as the Highblood began to fuck him, hard and deep. At first he'd thought maybe he'd gone into Gamzee again, but by the end of the first thrust he could feel it, that painful, burning pressure, hammering unyielding against some deep, still sensitive place inside him. With how hard and fast the Highblood was going, he was sure if it had been any troll other than him they'd be screaming, able to feel it all the way down to the base of the Highbloods bulge. Tavros felt sick at the thought, even the very tip felt too big...

He squeezed Gamzee's hand tightly, and felt it clasp him tighter in return. It was the only good thing in his life right now, maybe ever again and he focused on it with all his might. He'd been emotionally numb for a while now, but terror was building up in Tavros again now at the way the Highblood looked, the ferocious expression he wore as he savaged him. The intensity of his thrusts was making it almost impossible to hold his leg still. Gamzee grunted beneath him in pain at every thrust which forced the combined weight of the other two trolls down onto his broken body. God, Tavros wanted to shut his eyes, wanted to pass out or just...

He laid there and waited for it to end, feeling sweat sticking between his and Gamzee's hands and not knowing whose it was.

The lowblood felt good around him, hot and wet and TIGHT. The Summoner hadn’t been this tight in sweeps. He leaned down, planting a kiss along the lowblood’s cheek, tasting the tears and Gamzee’s genetic fluid. He wanted to get closer. He gripped the useless legs, and spread them wider, possibly the the point of tearing, and started to use them as leverage, slamming harder and faster.

So motherfucking good, he could just do this for hours, with the brownblood crying under him. His descendant was still crying too, he would have to fix him up after this. But he put that out of his mind for now, and let the sensations of the lowblood take him over.

He spilled deep inside, with one final thrust. Nearly crushing the two underneath him as he collapsed with a low growl. He stayed like that for a moment, before pulling out, spilling the genetic material on the couch and ground. He brought a finger to his mouth and licked it, tasting the blood.

They looked like a motherfucking perfect picture, bruised and bleeding and so motherfucking USED. If he hadn’t just pailed, he would have been ready for another go. He sighed, but both were injured, and he better take care of it now, rather than later. 

“So motherfucking good. You did good little pet. Don’t worry, I’ll take good motherfucking care of you.” He reached down, gently, oh so gently, and picked up that broken little thing, disentangling them from each other with a harsh tug.

He knocked his descendant on his back, with a firm command of stay the motherfuck put, and headed towards the door, destined for the personal medic room he had installed for when he got too rough with his own little fly.

-

The Summoner was panting in rage, unable to look as the Highblood finished, spilling inside his descendant messily. The small muscles on his arms were trembling and his hands and wrists were a bloodied mess, a puddle of brown blood had pooled under where they had been chained.

He only hoped the Highblood would put them both in the same room, so he could at least look over his descendant, and take care of him. 

~~

Gamzee fell off the couch in his haste to follow after Tavros, but he couldn't walk, couldn't move more than an inch crawling across the pit.

“Where... where are you taking Tav?” He sobbed.

Tavros made eye contact with Gamzee, his hand now cold and tingly without him, and watched his panicked, tear-stained face until it disappeared behind the room door. The rest of his body was a wreck and he hung limply like a broken doll in the Highblood's arms. One of his legs was twisted in an odd way, he was pretty sure it was broken. And he was still...dripping, leaving a trail of indigo behind them. He felt full inside, and had to desperately fight back the urge to vomit all over the troll carrying him, knowing it'd be bad for him if he did. Not that things could get much worse... but what did he know? 

Maybe they could.


	4. Chapter 4

The Summoner scowled as the Highblood left the room, blood boiling. He wasn’t afraid for his descendant. If the animal meant to kill him, he would have so already. He most likely was going to go patch him up, though that did cause some worries. He couldn’t help running his hands over the burned marks on his hands.

He bowed his head slightly grimacing. With a snarl he twisted, sending a kick to the window. His heel screamed at the contact and he fell, banging on the seat when he upset his balance. He didn’t feel better, but the pain was somehow good, regardless

Gamzee looked up at the sound. He definitely just saw that mirror move, as if something had bumped against its other side, but...there was only wall behind it right?

Slowly he stood up on aching legs, tugging at the torn crotch of his pants, but it was useless, they were wrecked. He limped out of the pit, stumbling a few times, and approached the mirror. He saw himself in it, momentarily unrecognizable. He looked like...well he look like he felt. He ran his hand along the cool metallic surface, his lip shaking. He leaned even closer in on instinct, almost pressing his nose against the glass, it was almost like, he could see something else inside, like it was reflecting another room besides the one he was in. It was dark and hard to make out, but it looked like there was somebody else in the reflection.

Gamzee made a weak fist and knocked twice.

“Is somebody...in there?” He asked, then immediately felt stupid. What was he thinking, he was probably hallucinating. He slumped forward and put his forehead against the mirror, tears spilling down his cheeks again.

“F-fuck...”

Summoner tilted his head, eyes narrowing. The young highblood hadn’t known he was here. He tugged thoughtfully at the chains. He couldn’t open them, the complicated latch too much for his small teeth, but if he could get the little indigo to open them…

He stiffened, teeth bared, and threw another hard kick at the window, shouting, “HEY!”

Gamzee jumped backwards in shock, falling to the ground. Okay, the mirror had definitely moved that time, he'd felt it. And he thought he'd heard someone...a voice?

“What the motherfuck? What's...” He stood up and pressed flush against the mirror, squinting with one eye. He could definitely make out another room, and somebody was in there. Was this...one of those weirdo double backwards miracle mirrors like in the cop dramas his Teal-sis always used to talk about?

He tried not to think about what that meant, that whoever was in there had seen... everything. It made him shudder.

“Hey, you uh, you trapped in there motherfucker?” He called.

Another crash. Right. Maybe there was, a door somewhere?...

The Summoner grinned ferally as the other responded. He tried to lead him with a series of bangs on one direction, towards the door. He had to stretch, his last kick being weaker, but hitting the end of the mirror. He hoped the Highblood got the idea that he had to look outside in the hall.

He didn’t know if the other could hear him, but he yelled anyway. 

“Out in the hall! The painting of the Condesce can be moved!” He tried enunciating as best he could.

Gamzee noticed the pattern of the bumps were moving in one direction and he followed them, tracing his hands along the wall, eventually he got to the door. Was the way into the secret room from outside?

Self consciously, he peeked out into the hallway, nobody seemed to be around, but he was still wary as he stepped outside. He looked to his right, expecting to see a door to the hidden room, but finding a giant, garish painting of the Condesce glaring down at him instead. He approached it, feeling very, very stupid once again, and tried pushing it aside. To his surprise it swung open, revealing a hidden door.

He'd probably feel pretty smart if he didn't just feel twelve different kinds of motherfucking wretched.

~

The Grand Highblood had been carrying Tavros for a while now through the ship's corridors, luckily they hadn't come across any other clowns, not that it mattered. He'd lost too much dignity to care.

“Are you going to kill me now?” He asked, quietly. His scratchy, deadened voice made it impossible to tell if it was asked in fear or in hope, and to be honest, Tavros didn't know himself.

The Grand Highblood snorted at the little thing in his arms, finally making it to his medical room. Why did he have so many motherfucking rooms in his suite? Took too long to get anywhere.

“No. I’m planning on keeping your little fucking hide for a while.” He said, voice quiet.

He dropped the adolescent on the table gently, arranging the wrigglers legs so they were not flopping all over the place. He huffed a bit when he noticed one of them had been messed up. He twisted the leg a bit, feeling the bones grind underneath.

He moved away, walking around and rummaging through the standard healing shit he kept in cupboards and shelves for bandages and disinfectant. He could call up a Medicull Practpunisher to look at the little shit, but he felt like this needed a personal touch. He found that he enjoyed repairing the damage just as much as doing it sometimes, and this little thing was just SO MOTHERFUCKING EXPRESSIVE.

He came back with the items and set them down. With one hand he held the smaller troll down, claws digging slightly into his chest. 

“Lay down and stay motherfucking still. I don’t want to fuck this up.” He warned, and started cleaning the blood up from the shallow cuts.

Tavros kept his eyes fixed on the wall, whenever the Highblood wasn't looking, but knew enough by now to watch as he loomed over him. Disinfecting his cuts, giving him stitches which stung and bit, and thankfully, though somewhat superfluously, resetting his broken leg. He didn't make a noise the whole time, didn't move an inch. It was surprisingly easy to tune out after everything that had just happened.

~

Gamzee opened the door slowly, bracing for a trap. Instead all he found was a very angry looking adult troll. He was mostly naked, and looked like he was on the wrong end of a hundred or so of the worst sweeps any motherfucker ever up and lived through. Gamzee had to choke back a honk of fear and shock when he saw his sawed off horns.

“Who the fuck are you?” He asked, feeling blunt and much, much too lucid.

The Summoner turned, bent slightly thanks to the cuffs, but grinned at the little wriggler who actually managed to stumble into the room, showing off his useless flat teeth. The pity he saw in the other’s eyes only made him angrier. He looked so much like his ancestor.

“It does not matter, who I am. It only matters that you get these, off me.” He said, a growl lacing his voice as he tugged his hands towards the other, the metal of his cuffs and the chains clanking. His hands were curled into fists, hiding his blunt nails, though he could not hide the sign that had been burned into his skin.

Gamzee approached the strange troll carefully. He could see brown scars on his wrists, marking him with the sign of the Capricorn, as property of the Grand Highblood. Gamzee clenched his fists, that was enough for him to make his decision. Even if this troll was dangerous, he was obviously no friend of the Highblood, and right about now that made him and Gamzee brothers for all he was concerned. He grabbed the cuffs and fumbled with them, before realizing he still had his modus with him, he fished out a clawfile and got to work dismantling the cuffs.

“You sure who you is ain't important, motherfucker? Cause I gotta say, you look really fuckin' familiar.”

The Summoner held still to let the young troll get the cuffs off, a bit surprised that it even had its modus. The Highblood usually took those from his ‘guests’, he wondered if his own descendant still had his...

“... I suppose I do not look the same, as I once did.” He said after a pause, looking at his thin, scarred arms, feeling the missing weight of his horns and the unbalance of his too small wings. 

The child smelled terrible, like sex and fear and sadness. Despite his being a highblood, and the descendant of the Grand Highblood himself, the Summoner felt a bit of platonic pity for the pathetic creature.

“.. You may call me, the Summoner. It, used to be my name.” He would be punished for letting him free, he should at least know his name.

The Summoner...that sounded familiar. Gamzee frowned, feeling like he was missing something. He looked the Summoner over, taking in his wings, scars the exact same shade of brown as Tavros' blood.

It suddenly clicked, the particular halting quality of his voice, and the shape of his face...

“Holy shit, are you Tav's ancestor?” Gamzee asked suddenly, taking a step back in shock.

Summoner narrowed his eyes, wings twitching behind his back, his mouth a slight snarl that was more of a grimace. 

“Yes, I am. And I’m getting him out of here.”

He pushed his hands towards the little highblood. 

“Now... get these OFF me.”

~

The Grand Highblood hummed to himself as he worked, stitching and patching as he went. He hadn’t done as much damage as he had thought he had, at least. His grin was too much teeth as he dragged his hand over the now patched chest, and down towards the stomach, nails catching. He didn’t like that the little thing was ignoring him, but he soon got distracted.

Its stomach was a bit distended, and he couldn’t help but grin. His genetic material was still inside him. It sent a possessive, pleased shiver down his spine, he pushed on it slightly, feeling it give, before taking his hand back and turning around again, producing a bucket he kept just for this purpose.

He set it down on the ground between his legs. He grinned, moving the things arms so they went around his neck.

“Hold on tight motherfucker. I can’t be holding your dead ass up all the fucking time.”

Tavros wanted to scream at the first flash of metal. No. Not that. Pails were special, they were for quadrants only and...he didn't want to fill one like this. Not his first real pailing. Not like this.

But he held on, like he was told. Face squeezing in pain and humiliation as the Highblood positioned him over the bucket, and he felt his soul die a little more.

The Grand Highblood chuckled, one hand went up to pet the lowblood’s hair, fondly, while the other went to wrap around his back, lifting him up, over the bucket. He set the younger’s legs on either side. The hand that had been petting, drifted lower, ghosting over the bump in his belly.

He debated for a second. Did he want to have him empty the genetic sac, OR... did he want to find one of those plugs and force him to keep it in there? It could be done safely, genetic material took a long time to go bad inside a body. His precious Fly always looked so good with his stomach all distended and full. Looked motherfucking delicious, and this one looked delicious too. He felt his own bulge give a half hearted twitch at life, but it was still much too soon.

“You should motherfucking let that sack of genetic material go, little fly, or do you want me to motherfucking MAKE you?”

Tavros whimpered, bracing for a punch to the gut. But the Highblood seemed to be giving him a little while to choose. He couldn't decide what would be worse, voluntarily pailing the Highblood's seed felt almost like consenting and disgusted him with it's too-intimate implications, but if the Highblood made him pail...he could bet it wouldn't feel good at all, and might even cause his seedsack to burst or his organs to rupture depending on how hard he squeezed. But, hadn't the Highblood had said he wanted him around for a while? He wouldn't cause his “new toy” to bleed to death or die of sepsis, right?

In the end he couldn't bring himself to do it, couldn't bring himself to release. He doubled over and waited for the Highblood to act on his disobedience.

The Grand Highblood growled a bit, claws digging in slightly, but not enough to puncture the skin. He was never known for his fucking patience, and the little shit wasn’t talking to him.

“ANSWER ME MOTHERFUCKER. What’s it going to fucking be?”

Tavros flinched but didn't reply.

The Grand Highblood growled in warning, but the thing wasn’t going to answer. Being gentle was not good for it, it seemed. He still had to be careful. He had nearly lost his precious fly when he had done this the first time.

He dug his claws into the other’s back, deeper than before. He wanted those to motherfucking SCAR. With his other hand, he placed it just above the bump, claws digging in as he found the perfect place, and began pushing, not too hard, but still with force.

He thought about what he was going to do to the kid in punishment.

Tavros screamed suddenly from the pain, it felt like he might burst. He gasped as he felt cool liquid leak out of him and drip down his thighs. He held out for as long as he could, but the pressure was ultimately too much to resist, and he released with a whimper. The sudden gushing sensation was overwhelming. His eyes were shut, but he could hear the lewd sound of the liquid hitting the inside of the bucket as he was emptied, and feel the tightness in his stomach lessening.

“Heh, filling my pail so easily? I knew you couldn’t motherfucking resist.” The Highblood breathed warmly into his ear.

Tavros shuddered, blocking out everything, willing the nightmare to end.

~

Sucking in a breath, Gamzee reached for the Summoner’s handcuffs again. He thought he'd almost got them, but it was hard to keep his hands from shaking.

“So that motherfucker made you sit here and watch...everything?” He asked, already knowing the answer. The cuffs finally popped open with a click and Gamzee tucked his arms in on himself.

“I'm sorry I couldn't stop the madness brother, I tried, but...” He faded out, looking away in shame. 

The Summoner resisted rubbing his wrists. They were a brown bloody mess with deep gouges. He would have to clean them later. He did not attack the highbloood youth, though everything in his body told him to. He seemed, against all genetic odds, remorseful about what had happened.

“... I have been forced to watch worse.”

Gamzee looked up at the Summoner, blinking tears out of his eyes. “You really think you can get Tav out of here?”

“I do, and I will. I will get him out, even if that means-” He started, the fire in him that he had thought to have been completely burnt out was starting to smoulder back into life. But his thoughts were interrupted by a scream, a young scream. His eyes widened and he nearly pushed Gamzee to the floor in his haste, fear for his descendant rushing through his veins.

~

The Grand Highblood purred at the sounds of the genetic material plinking in the bucket and the other’s screams. They seemed even more lovely than his own Fly’s. He would make sure to hear them as often as he could, the whimpers were almost as sweet.

When the flow started lessening, he brought the hand up, dragging over the other’s stomach and along his face, brushing a thumb against Tavros’ horn and ear.

“There, that wasn’t so bad was it, motherfucker?” He patted the cheek, and shifted him back so he could look at the bucket. It was mostly his own purple, with a small swirl of brown. He hadn’t ruptured anything at least.

“Next time, you’ll do it on your motherfucking own. If I have to force you again, I won’t be as MOTHERFUCKING NICE. Do you get me?”

Tavros' nodded quickly, his head felt fuzzy. Nothing made any sense, his whole body ached and he felt hollow inside. He wanted to die... but instead he passed out, his head lolling limply onto his chest.

~

Recovering from the push Gamzee chased after the Summoner. 

“Hey, hold up!” He called. 

Fuck, that scream was loud, what more could the Highblood possibly be doing to Tavros after all he had already done?

The Summoner ignored Gamzee’s shouts as he ran through the halls, heading towards the infirmary. He knew the entire layout of the Highblood’s Respite suite, having lived there for so long, and having been dragged into each and every room at least a dozen times. 

His descendant had been injured. The Highblood was a monster who enjoyed the pain of others, but he always made sure his ‘property’ was well kept, so that it lived as long as he wanted, and died only on his terms. Since he hadn’t killed Tavros yet, it stood to reason he’d have taken him to patch him up.

It was hard, running in the hallways with his balance as it was, he ran into walls when he couldn’t make a turn fast enough, bruising his arms and sides, swearing and gritting his teeth. His wings beat behind him, trying desperately to help him move faster. 

He turned and stopped in his tracks as he saw the Grand Highblood exiting the infirmary.

He was cradling his descendant, holding him as gently as the Jadeblooded Mother herself. The comparison sent a new wave of rage and disgust through the Summoner. Tavros’ bandaged legs dangled loosely, he was unconscious.

The Highblood turned at the sound of feet running, and saw his little pet.

“Ah, hello little fly, who let you off your motherfucking LEASH?” He bared his teeth at the other, half amused, and half annoyed. He bent down quickly, slipping the younger Taurus onto the ground by his feet. He didn’t get in a fighting stance, only regarded the other patiently, curiously.

“Did my little descendant let you out?”

The Summoner growled and launched himself at his enemy. The Highblood caught him easily. The Summoner hadn’t been allowed to practice or train for over a hundred sweeps, his muscles were weak and he was off balance without his horns. The Grand Highblood grabbed him by his arms and smashed his face into the wall, breaking his toy’s nose and causing him to swear.

“Looks like you didn’t MOTHERFUCKIN LEARN FROM YOUR LAST ATTEMPT YOU LITTLE SHIT.” On hand quickly grabbed one of those wings. He wished they had stayed around longer this time. PITY.

The wing tore easily, and the pain of fresh nerves being severed shot straight through the Summoner. It was too intense, and he felt himself fainting instantly. There was the sound of running footsteps rounding the corner, and yelling... and then there was nothing. 

His whole world had gone dark.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, some body horror. And also Summoner♦Tavros.

Chapter 5

It was the pain in Tavros' stomach that woke him up, more than the itching at the back of his throat, it was an ache that seemed to go deeper than regular hunger pains. The first thing he noticed, was that his four wheel device was missing, the second was that he was in a strange room, on a fabric slab, which he vaguely remembered as what adults used instead of recuperacoons for sleeping.

Like a construction rectangle to the face, he suddenly remembered everything that had happened, to him, to Gamzee. Not even fully awake the pain and weakness he felt caused him to stay frozen where he lay, his throat closing up and eyes welling again. They stared blearily at the ceiling, until movement in his peripheral vision caused Tavros's head to jerk downward. The terror that had chilled his insides slightly abated, when he saw the troll with him in the room wasn't the Grand Highblood. It appeared to be another prisoner, like he was, he had heavy cuffs on his wrists. So did he, Tavros suddenly realized, feeling the metal chafe on his skin. 

“Who are you?” He asked, still scared. He wondered if he'd ever stop being scared...

Weakly he pushed himself up onto his arms to get a better look at the adult troll sitting in a chair nearby. Though brownblood by the look of his bruises, he looked in some ways many sweeps old, he was heavily scarred, and (Tavros had to hold back a scream when he realized) both of his horns had been removed at the base. He had obviously been tortured, perhaps for many years. He was staring at Tavros strangely, maybe he'd been tortured into insanity? 

“You're hurt...” He said on impulse, feeling pity and sympathy for this stranger. He momentarily forgot his own pain and tried to sit up. “Are, you okay?”

-

The Summoner sat in his chair, watching his descendent sleep, the headache he had from his head slamming into the wall now just a dull pulse. He had woken an hour ago, back burning. There was still blood dripping down it, the Grand Highblood opting to ‘deal’ with his descendant rather than tend to his favorite pet’s wounds.

He had woken up beside his descendant, Tavros. He looked smaller than anything he had seen before, and it made his blood pusher twist with pity. He was just so tiny. Was he really as small as he seemed, or had it just been that long since he had last seen anyone younger than a hundred sweeps?

It made him bare his teeth, thinking at what the Highblood had done to him. He would have to get him out, get him away, so he wouldn’t be hurt. He had moved away after making sure Tavros was still sleeping. He’d grabbed one of the chairs and sat down, to watch his descendant.

He was young, wriggler fat still clinging to his cheeks and arms. He didn’t look much like an adult yet. He also didn’t have wings, and there were no muscle formations for them yet when he had checked him for injuries. Had he even undergone the final stages of pupation? Would he ever? It had been only a sweep after his own puberty that he went through the transformation. The wings forming inside of pus filled bumps on his back, before bursting out. Would Tavros go through that as well?

If he did, it would be in here, under the eyes of the highbloods. It made him shiver. If they didn’t form right during the first formation, they would never for right after if they were torn or broken. there was no way something as delicate as wings could be able to form here.

He had thought about how he would get him out, watching him rest, but, there was no way he would be able to. The Highblood kept too close an eye on him, and it was a long way to the shuttle crafts. He eyed his descendant’s legs, which rested under his rough blanket, apparently lifeless and unfeeling. He wouldn't be able to run with those, and he didn’t have the strength to carry him.

There only seemed one merciful solution.

He would kill him, now, before he could be further mutilated, and... tortured. It, would be for the best. It would be so easy, with him sleeping now as he was. Just one quick twist of his head, and the deed would be done. He had done it countless times before, to his own men, when they would not survive their wounds, or would have been crippled for life.

Those were his thoughts when his descendant woke up. He heard his sniffle, saw the brown tears glistening. It made his blood pusher twinge with pity. He could only stare when Tavros noticed him, and he felt an extra twist in his gut when he asked him if he was alright.

A sad smile appeared on his face, a little twitch. Hadn’t his lusus taught him to be wary of adult trolls, of any trolls? His little descendant….

“It, is nothing I have not lived through, before.” He said, smiling, trying to ignore how blunt his teeth were, though hyper aware of them and also his nails. He tried to hide them, folding them in his lap. “I would be more concerned about you, are you alright?”

He doubted he would be and winced a bit after he said it. Stupid thing to ask.

-

Tavros looked away. The honest answer was of course no. He'd never be alright again, not really. But he couldn't say that to this old troll slave, who had probably lived through much worse than what Tavros had endured in one horrible day.

“How long was I passed out? Are we still on the ship?” He asked instead. “Is he, keeping us here? I mean...sorry.” That was so many questions, he must sound really pathetic, he shook his head and looked down again. He'd just noticed the troll had wings, or...one wing...

He'd always wanted wings. But now it didn't look like they'd have helped.

“What's your name?” He questioned finally. It somehow felt more important than the others.

The Summoner wanted his descendant to stop talking, stop looking like that. It made his blood-pusher twist, and he had to kill him, before the Highblood came back. It was going to be more difficult, now. He should have done the deed when he was asleep.

“You may, call me, Summ- no, Rufio. Call me Rufio. It is my name after all, or was, before…” He trailed off, but stood. He couldn’t help flaring his one wing a bit, still trying to make himself look good, even if he knew he looked terrible. “I, am your Ancestor, Tavros.”

Tavros sat completely still for a moment. His eyes widened in realization and he shook his head, slowly.

“No.” He breathed. His eyes again scanned the troll, his horn roots were in the same place as Tavros', his blood, which flecked his one orange wing, was Tavros' exact shade. 

Rufio. The Rufio of legend, brave commander of beasts and slave to no troll. The Rufio Tavros had based his whole self esteem on, had aspired to become. No. Rufio was dead, he had to be, it'd be hundreds of sweeps! Oh God. He was supposed to have died a hero, not chained up and marked, mutilated, owned.

“No. Oh no...”

Tavros bowed his head again and buried his face in his hands, his shoulders starting to shake.

“I thought...I'm sorry. That was so selfish, to say 'no'. I m-mean I'm happy to meet you, I... I always wanted to, but...” He tried peeking up at Rufio, but it only made his eyes fog up again. 

“I always thought you'd died, in battle.”

Rufio winced a bit, wings twitching, when his descendant said no. Was he denying him? What, what did he mean? He looked like his lusus had been killed in front of him. He watched his descendant fall into himself, saw the brown tears on his face.

..Oh, he, had though he died a martyr. He couldn’t help but let his wing droop a bit, and he moved forwards, giving into the urge to just, hold his descendant, to wipe those tears away. What a pathetic thing he must be to see.

“No, I did not, die in those fields, descendant of mine.” His hands were shaking, as he hesitantly touched the other’s shoulders, not really sure if he had the right to hold him. “I, was captured, many years ago. Given to her Condesence’s personal barkbeast as a, reward.”

Tavros flinched when his shoulder was touched. He glanced at the scarred and bloodied hand, the claws filed away to nothing.

Then we're both failures, Tavros thought to himself.

“...Was any of it true? Did you fly with dragons and, command an army of beasts?” He asked, some hopeful part of him aching to hear stories of glory, and redemption. Though it was silly, he wasn't a wriggler anymore...he didn't deserve to be coddled, only culled.

Summoner winced, bloodpumper tightening. His touch became firmer, actually holding Tavros’ shoulders. 

“Yes, I commanded a great many beasts. The dragon, she was a beautiful creature. Fast and strong, and the last to die, defending me. She took out dozens of highbloods, all by herself… ” He thought back to her. She had been magnificent, his most loved of all the beasts he commanded. His heart ached. She was gone now, dead, her bones ground into dust.

He looked at his own, ruined hands, scared with the Indigo’s symbol. His descendant still smelled of sex, and genetic material. He cringed a bit, at that.

“Now is not the times for stories, little one. We, should go get you cleaned up..” He tried to decide how to get him to the ablution chamber, or even how he would wash. There was no tub for him to bathe in, only a shower. He would probably have to wash him himself.

Tavros's face heated up and he crouched even further into himself. Dreading what he'd find, he lifted up the blanket covering him and looked down at his naked body. His leg was in a cast, and looked to be in bad shape, bruises mottled his thighs and got progressively worse the nearer they were to his groin. He smelled foul and unfamiliar, but with the worrying underscent of blood. Quickly he dropped the blanket and shook his head vigorously, not looking at Rufio.

“I can't...I can't move. My legs are...” He trailed off, and turned to face the wall. He didn't care what shape his body was in, he couldn't bare forcing his ancestor to help him with something so personal, but there was no way he could bathe on his own either. God, he was so pathetic. Why was he embarrassed? He shouldn't have any shame left.

“Don't worry about it, okay? It's nothing.” He muttered.

The Summoner shied back a bit at the scent of the blood and he only got a brief look at his descendents legs, and they looked terrible, bruised and broken.

“No, you should get clean. It, is better, in the long run, I have found.” He said, wincing slightly. He grabbed the edge of the blanket, pulling it off as gently as he could, but insistently.

It was the 'I have found', that stopped Tavros from pulling the covers over himself again. It was true, If he didn’t clean his wounds he could get an infection, which could end up killing him. It helped to think that Rufio had seen everything already, that he'd gone through enough and experienced enough that Tavros' atrophied legs wouldn't disgust him, his wounds wouldn't scare him. Maybe it was morbid to allow the comfort of someone only because they'd been hurt as well, or maybe it made more sense then he thought.

It still felt uncomfortably pale, letting Rufio pry away his covers and lift him gently in his arms. Usually the act of bathing another troll was reserved for moirails only. Rufio was surprisingly strong, despite having the sinewy look of someone who was once muscular, but had lost their girth through disuse and starvation.

He slipped his arms under the other’s legs and behind his back, pulling him in close as he lifted him off the bed. The damage looked bad, but nothing he wouldn’t survive, it seemed. He smelled worse this close, the stench of sex was disgustingly familiar, but he didn’t react to it. He tried to smile calmingly instead, for the sake of his descendant, who he could feel shaking.

He was so light, lighter than he should have been, but that must have been due to his legs. They were much thinner than the rest of him, slightly shriveled with no muscle. Just useless limbs. He held him a bit closer than was necessary, but he couldn’t help himself. He should just snap his neck, right here, his descendant wouldn’t see it coming, and he was just so small. He wouldn’t survive the Grand Highblood’s attention, not for long. His hand ghosted a bit higher up on his shoulder, blunt claws doing no damage to the skin there as he ran his claws along it. He wouldn’t be able to do it from this angle, not while holding him.

He carried him over to the bathroom, which was mostly bare, only a shallow sink you couldn’t drown yourself in and a shower stall, no tub. There were small towels, hardly longer than his forearm, small enough that you could never tie them together properly to try to hang yourself, he had tried.

He gently set his descendant down on the cold bottom of the shower, the tiles should at least feel nice, or, maybe not, if he couldn’t feel anything. He stood there, pondering slightly before reaching up and taking the light plastic shower head down. He smoothed out the long hose, too light and immalleable to strangle a person effectively.

He didn’t say anything when he turned on the water, checking it against himself for temperature, before offering his descendant to test the warm spray, 

“Is, this acceptable?”

Tavros stuck out his hand, the water was warm, not too hot, and soothing. He nodded.

“Yeah, it's good. Thanks.” He tried to reach for the showerhead, his face heating up. “I can...I can hold it. Um...is there any soap? Oh, f-fuck.” He swore as he dropped the showerhead, his arm felt so weak. And sore, and...

He started to cry again. Clenching his fists weakly against the tile.

“Sorry, I'm sorry....” He stammered. He was so pathetic, falling apart like this. He wanted to be alone, he was disgracing himself in front of the last person he had left to impress, but he couldn't help it, he felt broken inside.

Rufio was ready to let him take the shower, but grabbed it when Tavros dropped it. Water spraying out of the stall in the moments between. He crouched awkwardly, unsure of what to do. His descendant was crying, and he wanted to make things better for him. To hold him, and stroke his hair. Tell him it was alright, he could let it out. It was pale, very, very pale. But his descendent needed it, and he found he wanted to give it. Just so he had something nice.

He hesitantly put his arms around the younger troll, bringing him into a hug, and held him, making small calming churrs in the back of his throat, though they sounded warped, his vocal box unable to heal properly after the Highblood had crushed it once in a fit.

“Shhh, little one, it’s alright. Let it out, we are the only ones here.”

Tavros curled into the warm body holding him. It was so strange, he'd never been held like this. He used to cuddle with Tinkerbull, and Aradia had hugged him once. But he'd never been held by another troll in this way, just for the sole purpose of comforting him. It felt so safe, so warm, and he felt himself calming down as he cried into Rufio's chest. 

The release of being told he was allowed to cry let the floodgates open, he sobbed openly, loud and pained, until he felt he might throw up if he cried anymore. His eyes and throat ached and his whole face was flushed brown. But eventually he calmed, until he was only just sniffling. Then he began to feel awkward again, that perhaps he had imposed too much, and that maybe this was inappropriate? Of course it was, to cry, naked, held in the arms of a strange troll he'd just met, even if it was his ancestor.

“Thank you.” He whispered into Rufios chest. Even if it wasn't right, he'd needed what Rufio had given him, he'd needed a moirail, and he was glad the old troll was here. He wasn't alone, at least.

Rufio held the smaller troll in his arms while he wept, bringing him close, letting him release his pain. One hand had drifted up, resting on the troll’s head where he gently pet his hair. It would be easy, grabbing one horn, and wrenching. Snapping his neck before he even had time to think, or to react.

He trembled, and his hand returned to simple petting, soft noises issuing through his throat as he held his small descendant. He didn’t care that his skin, or the loin cloth he was wearing was getting wet, or how that the water was getting everywhere. He hoped it soaked out into the hall, flooded the whole room. He gently started rocking Tavros, a half remembered tune his lusus used to sing to him. Still sang to him, in his dreams. 

He smiled down, sadly when his descendant finally seemed to collect himself. “You are welcome, Tavros.” He said gently, bringing up one hand to wipe away the brown tears. He wanted to ask him, if he wanted to talk, to tell him anything, but perhaps that would only serve to scare his descendant further.

“Come, let us get you washed up.” He said gently repositioning himself so he was sitting behind Tavros, allowing the other to lean back onto his chest, ignoring how his wing was twisted a bit. He reached for the hose again, aiming the warm water on his descendant’s chest. The water spilled down, when it reached his thighs, it took on a purply brown colour, though mostly brown. 

He reached for the soap bar, a crusty old thing, and worked a lather with his one hand. He started to scrub gently at the other’s skin, going lighter over the bruises, washing his chest, back, neck and arms in turn. He avoided the lower half as long as he could. He had rinsed the soap off the other before he looked over the other’s shoulder, towards his abused nook.

He doubted the young troll would want him to touch him there. And he wouldn’t blame him.

“Do, you ah, want to clean yourself, down there?”

Tavros had let his eyes close, enjoying the soothing feeling of being washed, which might've been the nicest, intimate thing he'd ever experienced, if it had been under other circumstances...

He opened his eyes and stared down at himself, brought back to reality but the question. He almost wanted to say no. He didn't want to touch himself, not at all. It had always been strange enough taking baths and washing his skin when he couldn't feel it, like preparing something dead to be dissected or cooked, but the meat was attached to him. And now his legs, and..nook, looked so different. Stained and bloodied and broken. They felt even less like they belonged to him.

He took the bar of soap, trying not to let it slip despite his fumbling fingers. Once his hands were lathered, he took the shower-head in one of them. He leaned back against Rufio's chest, trying to recapture some of the comfort he had felt a moment ago, and moved his hands down to his crotch. He felt for his nook, and lathered some soap there, before aiming the shower's spray between his legs. He gasped when the water moving toward the drain turned into a river of indigo, traced with brown, and became more nervous and disgusted the longer it lasted. How much was there, oh god...

It became too much and he dropped the shower-head, covering himself with his hands.

“I can't, I...” He, should probably wash deeper than that, he hadn't even gotten any water in his nook, just on it, but there was already such a mess pooling around them, and it smelled foul and sweet like rotten fruit.

Tavros scrambled to one side, trying to drag himself towards the drain and away from Rufio, he didn't quite make it before he threw up. It was watery, and tasted like acid, and was very brown with blood.

Rufio started as his descendant jumped from where he lay. He reached out after him, about to try to hold him back, make him stay still. When he saw the little body heave, his hands then went to help hold him up, out of the foul smelling vomit. He looked worriedly at the blood that came up with the bile.

How much had the Highblood injured him? Did he cause any internal bleeding? Could Tavros even feel any of the internal damage? He shuddered at that thought.

He dragged him back gently, away from the vomit sluggishly going down the drain, lest it trigger another round. He lent him against the wall, carefully placing his body in what he hoped was a comfortable position. He cupped some of the water from the shower head and brought it to his descendents lips. “..here, clean your mouth out.”

He looked down at the ruined body whose one thigh he crouched above. It looked torn, down there. It would need a more thorough cleaning, a task that, it seemed, now fell to him. 

“Rest, I will take care of you.” He said gently, preparing to assess the damage as gently, but as quickly as he could.

Tavros took in a mouthful of water, swishing it around to get rid of the acrid taste then spitting it out. His stomach hurt, but he tried to relax by taking a few deep breaths. Rufio was going to help him, it was okay, he could trust him, and Rufio wouldn't be scared like he was. 

He shut his eyes and nodded, but, he thought he should lie down, he was still feeling nauseous. So he carefully slid himself down the wall and relaxed against the cool, wet tile of the shower floor. With his eyes closed, Tavros had no idea what Rufio was doing to him, or how bad the damage was. But he didn't care, he wanted to forget about everything, to let someone else take care of him for once.

“Thank you.” He whispered again. He had the feeling he might be thanking Rufio too much, but he was just really grateful he didn't have to handle this alone.

Rufio shifted Tavros’ lower legs, helping him relax, just a bit. He watched his descendant close his eyes, putting himself as far away in his own mind as he could. That was for the best, at least he couldn’t feel anything. If he could, he would've been in much more agony. Rufio had been, after the first time the Highblood had taken him, and Tavros was younger than he had been, and so much smaller.

He sucked in a breath, trying not to breathe in with his nose, and went to work, spreading the others legs gently. His nook was torn, blood seeping out of little tears where he had been stretched too far and others where the Grand Highblood had clawed him. He was probably torn on the inside, as well. 

He reached out of the shower, and grabbed one of the white towels form the pile by the wall. They were a bit damp, but that was fine, better even, He brought it to Tavros’ skin, and began carefully cleaning the wounds, wiping away the blood and genetic material.

He tried to be quick, but not at the cost of gentleness. He sprayed water over the nook, watching as the two colours seeped out. There was still so much purple, there must be a mass of genetic material stuck somewhere. 

He winced at that thought, if he left it there, it would only grow harder and larger, and would cause Tavros problems, later on. He would have to clean inside. He looked back at his descendant briefly, his eyes were still closed at least. He decided on not telling him he was going to touch his nook.

He was glad that his nails had been filed down to blunt tips, it meant he couldn’t hurt Tavros, even on accident. He gently eased one finger in, feeling around for an obstruction. He found several smaller clumps, and tried to drag them out. The purple started to flow a bit easier, but there was also a troubling amount of brown blood that came with it.

The scent of it was disgusting, and thick. He gagged slightly, but slid his finger back in, probing deeper. He sighed in relief when he hit something bigger than the small bumps and prodded and tugged with his finger until it slid out. This cause a rush of purple as the blockage was moved. It was large enough to make a slight plop in the water. The Summoner sprayed it away from them, towards the drain and worked on getting the rest of his descendant clean, spraying over his nook until the purple stopped coming, and the brown slowed.

Tavros lay still for a very long time. The sound of the water spraying was nice, but the other sounds he was hearing were more troubling. He tried to let his mind wander, he went over his catalogue of Fiduspawn cards in his mind for a while, before realizing he didn't want to think about Fiduspawn, or Pupa Pan, or FLARP. Anything. It would have been hard to explain, but it was almost like, he didn't want anything to do with who he'd been before the Highblood, he wanted to keep those memories safe, untouched. If he thought about them now...it was too soon. All of his thoughts were stained with fresh pain right now. He ended up thinking about Gamzee, because for some reason it helped. 

He wondered where he was now. What had happened to him after the Highblood had carried Tavros away to splint his leg? Was he suffering like Tavros was, but with nobody to help him? Alone and afraid?

Tavros opened his eyes, and stared at the ceiling. Not daring to look at was Rufio was doing, though there had been no sounds but running water for some time now.

“Rufio?” He asked in a small voice. “I had a friend with me, when the Highblood...” he paused for a moment. “He was hurt too. But I think, he's alone now. Do you think we'd be able, to find him?”

Rufio looked up from where he was cleaning, sadly regarding his descendant. He was worrying about the highblood youth, after what had happened? He should be worrying about himself. He furrowed his brow, but continued to clean, wiping at the blood. At least the Highblood hadn’t decided to use is waste-chute. That would’ve probably killed him.

“It, will do you no good, thinking of him. We cannot leave this room, it is our... cage.” He said, adding the last word after a bit of hesitation. He looked up at the sad face again. 

“He did not cull him. He’s one of the Highblood’s descendants, they typically get a bit more leeway with the Highblood than the other trolls aboard his ship. He will get proper care, at least. If he can behave himself.” He added, after he had finished cleaning. It was a as good as it was going to get. He would have no way to bandage any of the scratches without supplies though, and it made him grit his teeth.

“I am finished, hold on.” He leaned over shut off the water and reached for a towel. The clumps were still there, by the drain, he tried to put himself between his descendant and the drain, and helped him sit and began to pat him dry.

He would come back and clean everything later, after he had him back in the bed, and resting.

Tavros was quiet for a moment. Would Gamzee really get better treatment? He hoped so, Gamzee was his best friend. He wished...

Wait.

“How did you know who I was talking about? How'd you know about Gamzee?” He tilted his head up quickly in confusion and accidentally spied the mess of tissue, congealed blood and genetic material clogging the shower drain. His eyes went wide.

“Oh god, w-was that inside of me? Oh my god. Oh f-fuck.” His body tensed in panic and suddenly his stomach spasmed in pain again and he screamed, clutching at it. It was more intense than before.

“Rufio...” He managed between muffled screams of pain. “I think I'm dying! It...it hurts!”

Rufio ignored the question and quickly tried to pin his descendant down by his shoulders, holding him still. 

"Tavros! Calm yourself, please. You are only going to succeed in aggravating your wounds."

He cast a glance down again, there was more blood leaking from between his legs. There must have been some internal tearing his descendant couldn't feel, or hadn't, until now. He bared his teeth, a whine coming out of his mouth. He’d known the Highblood was much too large not to cause serious damage, but he’d let himself hope...

Tavros sniffed and choked back his tears. He felt like he was having a panic attack, he used to wake up to a lot of those after he lost his legs. He nodded and tried to calm down, but it was hard, especially when Rufio snarled at him like that. After a long pause where he finally steadied his breathing, Tavros lowered his head, defeated.

“Is it over? Please? C-can I go back to sleep?” He asked quietly.

Rufio tried to hold onto his descendant more gently. He lent his head down, touching foreheads with his descendant, still whispering little nothings, trying to help calm him down.

“Yes, you can sleep after this.” He tried to say soothingly, trying his best not to bare his teeth again when he noticed how Tavros trembled. “Wait but a moment.”

He turned around and gathered some of the towels, dragging them closer, he selected one and began to dry him as best he could. He wished he hadn’t figured out how to hang himself with the old ones, they had been much bigger and softer. There was still blood leaking from between Tavros’ legs, but it looked a bit more sluggish now. He wondered how long it would be before his descendant bled to death, as he was almost certain to do without immediate medicull attention. 

He looked over Tavros again, shivering and bleeding on the tiles. His hand stilled for a moment. He looked more broken than ever, crying and shaking on the floor. It would be a mercy, to just, end his life now. He wouldn’t have to suffer through the Highblood’s games. Wouldn’t be used, and probably passed around, for the other Highbloods’ amusements. Or forced through any of the other innumerable indignities the Summoner himself had suffered.

Tavros looked up at Rufio, he was carrying a bundle of towels, the dim ablution chamber light hung above him and cast his scarred face with shadows that made him look un-alternian. Like an angel, albeit a fallen one.

“T-thank you.” Tavros said again. “I don't know what I'd have done, if you weren't here...” Died, Tavros thought, he would have bled out, or succumbed to sepsis, and died in that bed, completely alone.

He'd never had pale feelings for a troll so suddenly, so strongly. Not for Gamzee, not for Aradia, with whom in another life he would've liked to perhaps become moirails. He noticed the strangely intense look from earlier again on his ancestor’s face. He blushed a little and looked away. He shouldn't even be thinking about quadrants right now, what was wrong with him? He was messed up, sick.

He banished his thoughts as he saw his descendant look away. Was it shame? It probably was. He tried to bring a smile to his face, but he doubted it looked as calming as he had meant it to be. He would kill him, when he slept, that way, he wouldn‘t see it coming. Rufio wouldn’t have to see the betrayal on his face.

“.. We should get you back in bed.”

Tavros was already mostly dry, the blanket, thin though it was, would soak up the rest. He leaned over, slipping one hand under the splayed legs, and the other under his descendant’s arm. “Hold on.” 

He was still worryingly light in his arms, he couldn’t help the frown. He had no trouble picking him up, and he had lost most of his own muscle mass, over the sweeps.

Tavros did as he was told and held on tight, his stomach still hurt, like someone was stabbing him from the inside. Maybe he'd die in his sleep today, he kept going back and forth in his head on whether or not that would be a good thing. But he found, being with Rufio...he didn't want to die, not really. The older troll gave him comfort, some strange form of reassurance and strength. It was nice knowing he wasn't alone, maybe he could survive this, if he had someone like Rufio beside him.

He let himself be carried back to the bad and tucked in, He looked down and saw that he was already dripping blood onto the sheets, which weren't exactly clean to begin with.

“Are you, I mean, aren't you tired?...do you need sleep too? We...we could share...” He suggested meekly, moving to one side of the bed to make room, then immediately feeling stupid and blushing again. He was being really forward, but, he just didn't want to be alone. He could already feel the nightmares pushing at the back of his thinkpan.

Rufio smiled at his descendant as he tucked his legs underneath, checking the bleeding one last time. There was nothing he could do about it, even if he could use proper facilities. He was no miracle worker. “I am not quite tired, yet. I have been sleeping, too much lately. Go, rest, I will keep watch.” 

He raised his hand intending to pet his descendant’s head. He froze for a second, hovering in front of his face, before continuing, touching Tavros’ hair, burying his hands slightly in the soft fibres. 

Tavros leaned into the touch, it was warm. It felt like pity.

“Okay, but, if you get tired...” be began, trailing off, despite the pain in his stomach and the day-terrors creeping into the edges of his subconscious, he was asleep almost instantly.

Rufio stared down at his descendant, who fell into sleep quickly, he must have really been exhausted, and he wasn’t surprised. His gaze shifted to his hand, still resting in the other’s hair. It was soft, well, as soft as troll hair could get. It still had the feeling of a child’s hair, of one barely old enough to be conscripted.

He drew his hand back, dragging his fingers. He stared hard at his descendant, from his edge of the bed. His hand drifted down towards the exposed throat, blunt nails touching the skin. He should kill him. It would be easy, lifting that head and twisting harshly to the side. He would have to share a room with the body, for a while, but, it would be a mercy. He shifted the head slightly, the boy was so trusting he had fallen asleep, in front of him, with no problem. Like, like he was a trusted matesprit, or, or a moirail.

That thought made his hand freeze, hovering over that vulnerable throat. He grit his teeth. Did the boy think of him, as such? Maybe he did. He hadn’t refused the care he had given him, as limited as it was. He, trusted him. The last person who had trusted him, had been his matesprit, Mindfang, and he had killed her. Had killed her in her bed, as she had slept. Just, just like this. The circumstances had been different, certainly, but in the end the outcome would be the same. Another death on his conscience, and yet more blood on his hands.

He bared his fangs and retracted that shaking hand quickly, catching Tavros’s neck on a slightly jagged nail, scratching a bit. He didn’t wake, thankfully. He watched the blood bead on the surface of the skin and wondered how much his descendant had left, would he even make it through the day?

A noise from his descendant cause him to jolt. Tavros’ face looked strained, he was most likely suffering from day terrors. A tune Rufio’s lusus used to sing to him came unbidden, as his hand returned to smooth out the other’s hair, the pained creases on his feverish forehead. He didn’t even know how he remembered something, from so long ago. He barely noticed the tears that trailed down his face and dripped onto the thin blanket. 

He could not kill him, not even to relieve him the horrors of his future. He had given mercy killings before, to his own men, trolls he had been friends with, who had trusted him. A lover who had slept soundly by his side, warmed his body with her own. But he found he could not do so to his own blood. He could not break that final bond of trust. His hand continued to card through Tavros’ hair, hoping it would calm him down, provide him with some peacefulness in rest.

He could not kill him, but, he could not leave him here. On this ship. His descendant would die, sooner, or later. The Grand Highblood, he found, grew tired of his... amusements fast. Rufio himself seemed to be the only exception to that rule. He doubted that Tavros was anything more than another diversion to the Highblood, something new, to pass the time during his eternal life.  
He would have to find a way to get him out before then. He had to find a way. 

He continued to sing, until he could no longer manage through his own tears.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here there be gore

Gamzee Makara sat very still, in a high-backed, bloodstained chair. His fists were clenched on the armrests and his eyes darted around the walls of the large, expensively furnished room he was in. He was on edge, it'd been a least a whole night now since he'd had any sopor, and his mind ached almost as much as his body.

Every time he thought of it, what had happened, he felt like he was right back there, huddled under Tavros's warm body, feeling the shifting of the leather couch beneath them. The Highblood's laughter and groans still rang in his ears, reminiscent at times of his own voice. He clenched his hands tighter as his nook and lower back suddenly spasmed in pain.

The Highblood had brought him here, to this bloodstained room, his own quarters. He hadn't done anything else though, hadn't given him new clothes, or any instructions, just told him that he'd be back, and that he'd 'deal with' Gamzee later.

He'd been waiting for at least 5 hours. He didn't know where the Highblood went, he didn't care, he didn't want him to ever come back, even if he was sore and itchy and hungry and feeling increasingly unstable in his own head. His voodoos kept going off at the slightest provocation, and the many swirling colours on the walls seemed hostile and agitating rather than whimsical, like they might've before...

He hoped Tavros was still alive, he hoped he was okay. He hoped the Grand Highblood had put the Summoner with his descendant so at least Tavros wouldn't be alone. Still, he wished he could do something, to help, to get Tavros out of this motherfucking messed up situation he'd walked him into...

...But he couldn't, he didn't know what to do. So he just kept sitting (still has he could as his wounds stung and tore and reopened whenever he moved), and waiting...

~~

The Grand Highblood sat in his workblock, hunched over his desk, squinting at the words on the page, scribbling where he needed to. He smiled as he got to the bottom, quite bored now, and scratched his sign and name in his colour.

It was forms for his descendant to validate his place in society, and to keep him on the ship. There was no motherfucking way he would let that little shit go, not until he learned how to behave like a proper subjugglator. He sneered at the memory of his descendants behavior, the poorly fabricated relationship he had claimed to have had with the lowblood. He would also have to teach him how to lie better. He was awful at it.

There was going to be so much he would have to fucking do to fix that pile of shit in his room. He wondered if it was really worth it. It would be easier to just kill him, and not even bother, but it was always good to keep ‘pet projects’ around, especially ones that seemed like they’d be interesting, challenging.

He glanced at the clock, he had probably left him long enough by now to cool down, and come down completely from the drugs. He quickly sent a message to Agrint, one of the Medicull Pracutioners he trusted not to cull his toys on ‘accident’, to come up to his respite suite. Agrint was an unfortunate shade, among the lowest he permitted aboard his ship, but at least she knew how to work quickly and efficiently, and to not question him or his orders. She’d learned that long ago. He wondered if she still had the finger from what had been her prospective matesprit at the time...

He picked up the stack of papers and slid them into a protective casing, then turned towards the wall behind him. Gaping message holes stared out at him, openings wide and and ready to take any written messages wherever they needed to go. The message pod slipped in easily with a wet sound, the was sucked away. It should be at the registration desks shortly. He would need to get his descendant up and ready for his identification pictures.

He should have some spare clothes in his room, left over from when his last descendant had stayed with him. Might be a little big on this one. But it should be fine for the time being.

He slipped out of his workblock, and headed down the hallway, passing by several doors before stopping at one briefly.

He purred lightly as his fingers trailed over the door that held his pets. There was no sound currently, both were knocked out at least, wait, it sounded like the shower was running. He would have to have a look at the feed later. Maybe he would show it to his descendant, if there was something interesting.

He reached his own private respite blocks door, hit the locking system and it slid open. His descendant was still sitting right where he had left him. He shot him a toothy grin. “Hello Gamzee, are you feeling better?”

Gamzee looked up, then quickly down again, one of his legs had started bouncing restlessly. He shook his head.

“What'd you do with Tav?” He asked quietly. “YOU FUCKIN' CULL HIM?” ...where had that come from? He flinched at the sound of his own voice. It sounded harsh and unfamiliar to him.

The Highblood tilted his head as his descendant shouted at him, lacing his words with voodoos. If he was any other, it may have sent a chill down his spine. Did the whelp have no control?

He feigned ignorance, scratching at his chin, advancing on his descendant. “The rustblood? He’s fine, resting in his cage, like a good little pet.”

When he was close enough he grabbed his descendant’s chin, tilting it up and looking in his eyes. They looked somewhat normal, at least. 

“You shouldn’t be motherfucking worried about him right now. You got other shit to focus on.”

Gamzee stared back into eyes that looked like his own, but older, fully indigo and stone-cold cruel to the core. He didn't blink, he didn't think he could if he tried. The lack of sopor in his system made his head fuzzy with rage and adrenaline.

“Oh yeah... like what? Gonna fuck me again? You sick, nasty, MIRTHLESS MOTHERFUCKER.” Gamzee screamed through his teeth, his jaw held tight.

His hand tightened on his descendant’s chin, his grin taking on a bit of a meaner sneer, but he laughed nonetheless. Gamzee was a funny little thing, insulting him like that. He was no pet, but, he still couldn’t learn that he could insult him without repercussions. What if the little fucker got it in his head to talk to him like that around others?

He crouched down until they were eye to eye. “You are one funny little motherfucker.”

His mouth twisted harshly and he dug his claws in. “But that don’t mean you can motherfucking disrespect me.” He watched the Indigo blood, his indigo blood, drip down his fingers. He resisted the temptation to lick at the wet trails.

A low growl began in Gamzee's throat, it rose, along with his strengthening voodoos, louder and louder. The sting of his own blood dripping down his neck ELECTRIFIED him, it felt fucking fantastic to finally have a distraction from the ache in the rest of his body, and it only fueled his adrenaline.

He didn't blink, he didn't look away, he didn't say a word. Just bared his teeth, snarling and ringing his chucklevoodoos to the almighty above. The full depth of his hate for this fucked up freak couldn't even be put into words, and sober as he was, senses sharp with hunger and fresh pain, there was no fear, only unfamiliar, delicious rage.

Heh heh heh, this little thing was angry. The Highblood could practically feel it, the other’s voodoos sinking under his skin, trying to worm their delicious way into his motherfucking thinkpan. It was rage though, not quite fear, It had a different flavour, something more bitter than tangy. He just grinned and slammed the other back into the chair, banging his head on the stiff back, knocking his horns in a way he knew would make the voodoo’s shudder.

“First lesson motherfucker. Control those godamn voodoos. I would indulge your ass a bit more, it’s motherfucking cute how you think you can get to me with that pathetic display, BUT, I got someone coming up to patch up your shit.”

He smacked his head against the chair again, “You, had best get those chucklvoodoos under control. It’s bad motherfucking form to not be in control, and I will not fucking tolerate you going out of line.”

He brought his face closer, right up into the other’s face. “You got me motherfucker?”

Gamzee continued to stare, the jiggling in his leg seemed to travel up his whole body now. His eyes stayed locked on the Highblood, and he moved closer, until they were literally almost touching, he tilted his head slowly.

“Yeah,” He said quietly, through gritted fangs. “I got you, motherfucker.”

I'm gonna get you, he thought to himself. You won't even see it coming, but it's gonna happen, I will paint the walls with you, you heed my motherfucking words...

“Got you LOUD... and clear.” He added. He took a breath, and his voodoos settled, just a fraction. But he hadn't moved away. He'd show the Highblood he wasn't motherfucking intimidated by him...

The Highblood grinned wide into the Gamzee’s face, letting his breath waft over him, and feeling Gamzee’s own brush his skin. It still smelt of Sopor, faygo and a hint of the bitter drug he had given him. His grip became a bit softer, claws no longer digging in.

The runt wasn’t looking away. He’d give him some credit, he had a pair of chesticular sacks made of motherfucking iron, or at least he thought he did. Hah. Now, to let him think he had a chance, and back off, or to crush him utterly? His thumb slunk up and brushed the other’s cheek, nail grazing.

“Fan-motherfucking-tastic, my descendant. You will call me the motherfucking ‘Grand Highblood’, or motherfucking ‘Sir‘ though.” He said, chuckling, not retreating. He would have it from his descendant’s mouth first.

“Got it...Grand High-Motherfucker it is.” Gamzee guttered out. His eyes flashed. He was pushing his luck, he didn't care. He felt alive, manic and AWAKE in a way he hadn't been in years.

“And YOU can call ME the High Motherfucking Priest of Like-I-Give-A-Fuck you ugly piece of musclebeast shit.”

He didn’t snarl, his mouth didn’t move, though his eyes hardened a bit, the amusement they had held drying up fast. He slammed his descendant into the chair again, aiming to do more than just a gentle stun. His claws were digging in again, renewing those dark trails, he was tempted to heave, to toss him to the other side of the motherfucking room.

Let him get hurt on the inside, so he would have a longer memory than a simple bruise. That could kill him though. He was not stupid, he had been alive much too long to be so motherfucking stupid. In the end he placed one hand on his throne, and leaned down, teeth inches from the other’s nose.

“You worthless little worm. You WILL SHOW THIS MOTHERFUCKER SOME RESPECT. You are motherfucking LOWER than I am. Not as low as those fucking rustbloods in their cage, but low-e-fucking-nough. I will not tolerate you being an uppity little shit.”

“I will not brand you, like I did to my little Fly, but mark my motherfucking words. I will punish the fuck out of you. I WILL MAKE YOU MOTHERFUCKING SUFFER.”

Gamzee grunted with the force he was thrown back in his chair, but continued to growl. His voodoos springing up again, unbidden.

“I'm sure you can, sir motherfucker, sir.” He muttered. “But don't mean shit to me, cause I got the truth now, sharp and clear as motherfucking sunlight. You may think you're High, but you're low as shit. You as fucked up and low as as a rustblood grub with just one leg left, wriggling in the sunrise...”

What was he saying? Didn't matter, the truth was glorious, it burned in his mind like a beacon. The messiahs sang inside of him and set his soul on FIRE.

“You think you can fuck me up, motherfucker? Take a look in the reflection disc... you already up and done that to your own motherfuckin' self.”

The Grand Highblood bared his teeth in wide grin. There was no anger, but the underlying maliciousness was highly visible and twisted.

“You are motherfucking cute, you know that. I’ll get into your ass later, but there is shit that needs to get motherfucking done.”

He smashed his descendant against the throne again, the snarl dropping from his face to leave only a dark look. The crack of skull and metal was loud, and echoic in his throne room, and it was more than enough to either put his descendant out, or to stun him severely. It was only a small injury to go along with his much larger ones. It would be easier to get him to the medical room like this, anyway.

He bent down and scooped up his descendant, sliding his arm under his butt and tipping him forwards so he rested on his chest. He ignored any sound that Gamzee made and went out into the hall.

Agrint should be arriving soon.

Gamzee was dazed and could only struggle lamely as he was hoisted up and held like a doll. His head pounded and behind his eyes there was a pulsing that set the world on edge.

“Put me the fuck down...motherfucker...” He muttered through the pain, eyes clenched shut, he felt small and weak. The Highblood smelled like Tavros.

He made his way down the hall, cradling his descendant, ignoring the muttered words. There was indigo dripping behind him, spattering on the ground. He really did a number on him. He should at least let the kid take a few days to mend, so he didn’t die. He didn’t want to have done all the damn paperwork for nothing.

He brought him into the medic block, and set him down on the table. The bucket he had Tavros empty himself in was still there, now a semi-hard film resting on the top. It was a mixture of brown and purple, more swirl than a mix. The brown was blood, it never mixed well with genetic material he had found. He would have to get the little thing checked out as well since Agrint was coming already.

He lifted the bucket off, setting it on the ground, “Stay right the fuck there. The medicullist will be here soon to patch your ass up.”

Agrint was the only troll he allowed to come unannounced to his personal suite, besides the Empress, of course. He turned and made his way out, heading to his pet’s rooms

Gamzee’s whole world was the firework display behind his eyelids, every new change in light and sound seemed to send a shock of pain down his whole spine. And whenever a moment of painlessness or peace happened his only thoughts were on the Highblood, and making him pay for what he did.

He growled, his fists tightening on the operating table. He could still smell Tavros everywhere. It felt like what had happened was still inside him in more ways than one, and the guilt itched like week-old sopor on his skin and made him feel even dirtier than he was.

He heard the door open and close, and sensed someone else was in the room now. He tried to sit up but it sent off another display of sparks in his head and he howled in pain and lay back down.

-  
Agrint was slipping on her gloves when she entered the room. She didn’t bring any supplies with her, the Grand Highblood refused to allow any materials and chemicals he did not personally approve of. She had learned the hard way during the first time she had served him, her left backwards arching horn never grew back.

Now was not the time to dwell on the past. She focused on the room, analysing her newest patient. It was a youth, another descendant of the Grand highblood. He was suffering from several shallow wounds along his body, the only worrying thing she could see was the blood leaking from between his legs. Her nose wrinkled slightly, and she was glad she was wearing one of her older smocks. The kid didn’t look as bad as some of the wretched things she’d patched up in service to The Grand Highblood, but his blood would no doubt get everywhere.

She had never worked on one of his descendants directly before, at least, not ones with injuries of this nature. It looked like he had pissed off his ancestor in the worst way. She tried not to shift at the thought of dealing with an angry Grand Highblood. He was difficult enough to deal with in his calmer moods. It was better to get this done before he came back.

She moved forwards, “I am Medic Agrint. I will be examining you. Do not fight me.”

He looked out of it, probably got his head knocked around a bit. She still shouldn’t startle him, all of his previous descendants were known for their violence and uncanny strength.

Gamzee groaned as the strange troll neared him. He didn't have the clarity to sit up, but when she came close enough he snapped out a hand and grabbed her wrist.

“YOU A FUCKING MIRACLE MAKER... or a miracle stealer, witch-sis?” He asked, shaking her limb in his bony hand.

She froze, trying to process what the young highblood was saying. It was always the best thing to do, when dealing with the Grand Highblood when he was raging. He was like one of those giant scalebeasts, sometimes, where he didn’t notice you if you stayed still. As long as you weren’t the cause of his current ire, that is.

She had no idea what he meant by ‘miracle maker‘, or ‘witch-sis’. Highbloods always had... Interesting names for things.

“.. Neither. I am a Medicull Pracutioner in employ to your ancestor. Release my hand so I may tend to your wounds.” His claws were digging in, bringing olive green to the surface.

Gamzee stared her down, feeling her fear, tasting her truth. He released her hand suddenly and lay back on the cot.

“You can try, bro, you can always try. Don't meant you'll MOTHERFUCKING SUCCEED THOUGH.”

He lay still for now, ready to strike at the slightest sour move.

She resisted the urge to cradle her hand, only giving it a slight twist. She did glance over it, quickly dismissing the shallow wounds in favour of reaching for the bandaging supplies that had been left on the examination table.

She grabbed a clean cloth from the cardboard container and wetted it with a disinfecting solution in a bottle, and brought it towards the highblood, pausing slightly to give out a warning that it would sting.

Gamzee chuckled coldly.

“MOTHERFUCKING LIFE is the thing which is all what be doing the stinging, sister.” He muttered, snarling and sitting up when she moved to take off his shirt.

“Don't you motherfucking touch me, bitch.”

She frowned, bringing back her hand. Her eyes softened a bit, but then hardened, her frown turning into a determined line.

“I am going to check you for injuries, highblood. I will need your shirt removed.”

Gamzee sat still for a long minute, staring her down, before slowly pulling his torn shirt over his head and horns and tossing it aside. He lay back and looked away. He didn't even flinch when the cold cloth brushed against the first of his wounds. Small scratches on his chest and stomach he hadn't even known were there.

Agrit worked quickly, cleaning the skin of the indigo blood. The surface wounds would hardly leave a mark, and it only took a few minutes for her to clean and cover them with some wrappings. She set down the last item, nails clicking even through the gloves.

She turned her attention to the real problem, which was still leaking onto the table.

“I will need you to remove your pants as well. I will have to check the damage highblood.”

This time Gamzee didn't concede, didn't acknowledge the request, didn't move an inch. His eyes were fixed on a purple stain on the floor.

“You seen Tav? YOU DONE ANY SEEING AT MY BROWNBLOODED BROTHER?”

The stern line of Agrit’s mouth didn’t waver at the raised voice, only seemed to set more on her face as she backed up slightly.

“I have not seen any other besides you. I must clean up your wounds, now remove your pants.”

Gamzee glared at her from the corner of his eyes.

“You keep on barking that noise like you think I'll sing along, sister. BUT I AIN'T PLAYIN THAT SONG RIGHT NOW. Go find Tavros. He needs that shit, not me. So just...”

Gamzee moved to sit up sharply and let out a wail as his insides twitched in agony and more blood seeped onto the table.

“F-fuck off.” He hissed clutching his stomach with one hand and waving at Agrint with the other, trying to shoo her out of the room. “FUCK OFF AND FIND FAIRYBOY. PRACTICE YOUR MAGIC ON A MOTHERFUCKER WHAT NEEDS A MIRACLE.”

Agrit reacted immediately. She used one hand to push him down by his newly bandaged chest. She was tiny, and would never be a match for the uncanny strength of one of the Capricorns, but she tried anyway.

“No. I was called up here to treat you. So, I will ’work my magic’ on you, and you only. “ Her mouth screwed a bit, and her voice changed pitch slightly as she repeated Gamzee’s words.

“If this Tavros comes into this room, I will clean him up as well, IF I am allowed. I do not wish the wrath of your Ancestor unless it is important. That is not. Now, remove your pants so that I can check the damage.”

“Check...your OWN damage...” Gamzee hissed out, but the pain was getting to be too much.

His forehead had started to bead with sweat from the agony but he still snarled and growled obscenities all the way down as he was pushed onto his back. He didn't give a shit about himself, all he cared about right now was that Tavros was okay, but there was no getting out of this, no getting that through Agrints numb think pan. As soon as the pain quiets, I'll run for it, he told himself. Even as the last logical part of him knew he wouldn't even make it to the door.

With shaking hands he pushed at his waistband, shoving it down his thighs and kicking his pants off in a feverish, furious haze.

Agrit moved to the side, dodging the failing limbs and torn bloody cloth. She was on him the second the pants were off, pushing his legs down and spreading them, attempting to be gentle.

There was a lot of blood, and he was still bleeding. She would have to work fast.

Gamzee lay back on his cot as Agrint examined him, barely aware of her prodding and fussing. His mind worked frantically, sick with pain, and rage. He could still hear Tavros's cries inside his head...

~~

The Grand Highblood moved through his hallways, towards his pets’ own special block. He slid his hand easily over the brown stained door, activating the locking mechanism. It opened soundlessly, and he prepared himself for the wrath of his favourite little toy, but he was asleep. How disappointing.

His little fly was sitting on a chair, a few paces from the bed. His lone wing twitching in his sleep, as well as him snarling. He wondered what little dream his fly was having. Was he in it, or was it of someone else? He wondered about his dreams, sometimes. He looked almost, peaceful in them. He enjoyed that. He had spent hours just watching him, sometimes, as he slept. It was relaxing.

He moved forwards, tempted to break that peace, to get him yelling and screaming. How he enjoyed THAT even more, but refrained, instead attracted by the movement and noise on the fabric slab.

His new pet was shifting under the covers, and making some noises. He crept closer.

Tavros was dying.

He was also dreaming. Shock-induced fever dreams that felt more real and more intense than the worst of his realities ever were.

As he twitched and tossed in the Summoner’s thin sheets, his mind was filled with the Highbloods giant, grinning face. Fifty feet tall, it obscured everything, his face paint and yellowed teeth glowing like neon on a nightmare backdrop. He was nothing to him; a fragile, naked speck of dust.

*You think you can escape me little fly?* His voice boomed and echoed, like death. Little fly, little fly...

Flies were buzzing all around him now, they appeared from nowhere, traveling in a thick, black, conscious swarm. He tried to wave them off but they stuck to his sweat drenched skin, drinking moisture from his eyes and digging into his ears and hornbeds, enveloping him.. He breathed them in and felt them buzz his name again and again from inside his own chest.

And now he fell, now he was home. In his chair. In his hive. Tinkerbull curled in his lap. But as he touched her tiny form her flesh collapsed from her skeleton like ash and then so did his. Then with a great gust the very structure of his world blew away in a raging wind and his bones were left to be bleached by the sun. Forever stuck in the hollow of the madly spinning windmill.

He saw a figure in the distance and tried to call its name.

“Gamzee...” Tavros muttered out in real life. His eyes were pressed shut with the strain of approaching death

Gamzee approached him. His makeup was gone, he was wearing Tavros's colours, and he had wings as wide and as beautiful as the sky.

*I hear you, brother.* Gamzee touched the bone of his cheek, traced his eyesockets. It hurt. God it hurt.

“Gamzee...please...”

The Grand Highblood leaned over the little troll under the covers, and tilted his head. His fly was a peaceful dreamer, he expected his descendant to be the same, but he was moving and whining in his sleep. This one was so different from the other, despite their looks.

There was confidence and sureness in the Summoners fights, even when they were futile ones. This one was a hesitating, flinching thing. There was still courage in him, but it was different. It was interesting. Especially his whining now, calling out for his descendant.

They must have known each other very well for the little brownblood to call for him whilst injured.

He couldn’t help the smile and leaned closer, trying to dredge up what his descendant had called this one. Tavros, no what was it?

“...Tavbro…”

Gamzee answered him in a voice that was low and dark. The familiar nickname washed over Tavros in a foul breath and he choked on the stench. Then Gamzee started to change.

He grew and grew, until his clothing split at the seams. His body, once so many lanky limbs, tore with new musculature, with barely contained power. His teeth elongated and his smile grew cold, sharp and sadistic.

“...Taaaaaaaavros...” His voice was familiar, but disconcerting like the creaking of rusting wheels. He couldn't turn away from it. This wasn't HIS Gamzee, his friend had changed. They had both been changed. The wild, honest troll that used to light up every room he walked into now stood before Tavros twisted and poisonous and so very, very alien. And he was still changing, the light in his eyes shrinking. And Tavros couldn't let that happen, he had to save him from that darkness, had to reach out.

“I'm sorry...” Tavros whispered, his fangs clacked in his empty skull. The sounds weren't coming out right. He tried again.

“I'm sorry, I do...pity, so much pity. Just...don't leave me...please...don't...”

The words muttered in reality were lost to the roaring winds of Tavros's mind. Gamzee couldn't hear him, the light in the clown's eyes had been lost to a deep, inky indigo, and Tavros could not reach him now. He couldn’t save his friend. He couldn't save himself.

As his head fell forward in despair he noticed he was disintegrating, from the feet up. Most of his legs had been lost to the wind already and he knew, within minutes there would be nothing left of him but dust.

In the wakeful world, The Higblood grinned.‘Pity’? His new toy actually pitied his descendant, how delicious. Utterly delicious.

He leaned in closer, unable to help himself, and dragged his fingers along Tavros cheek towards his hair. His breath was gently pushing his hair back, making it sway. He let his tongue lawl out, dragging it over the other’s lips, tracing them, before drawing it back in.

“Oh, I won’t ever let you go, ‘Tavbro’. Motherfucking never…” His voice got softer as it trailed off.

Was he getting smaller or was the desert around him growing? Tavros couldn't decide. He heard calming words in a cold voice and didn't know who to trust. Gamzee was gone, Alternia was gone, everything was dead and he was a decaying husk of a nothing, a nobody.

He felt so much fear and regret as the darkness swallowed him and turned his bones to dust, inch by inch. He'd never been a hero, never charged into battle with the cavalreapers, he'd never known true pity or even true hate. He'd lived a tiny worthless life. And now he was going to die, alone, afraid, unloved. And the last sound he'd hear would be the same cruel rattle of breath he'd felt on the back of his neck as his body and soul had been ripped to shreds from the inside out.

The Grand Highblood took his eyes from the pained, sweating face and looked down. The sheet was stained brown by the waist. He would have to get him to the Agrit’s care, and soon. Oh, he wanted to play some more, but dead toys were not much fun. 

Not on their own, at least.

He looked over his shoulder, back towards His precious fly, who was still sleeping. How would he react to having the body of his descendant strung up next to the Sufferer’s bones? Left to rot and bleed along his wall. There WERE ways to make the body last for Sweeps, still producing blood and living, he guessed, in a sense.

There was another small whine from the body below him. Its face was twisted in discomfort and its breathing was shallow.

Take him, or let him die?

It took him a second to decide, and he scooped up the small thing, letting its useless legs dangle awkwardly as he brought it close. He could practically hear the little blood pusher pump, trying to keep his little worthless body alive. He grinned down at it, and turned, walking past the sleeping Summoner, and through the door. Agrit should be done with his descendant by now. She was a fast worker.

~~

The Summoner was awake and he was watching. Had woken the second the Highblood had walked past him, towards the bed. Who could ever sleep through the stench that wafted from his blood-soaked hide? He forced his muscles to relax, his breathing to stay the same. It wouldn’t be the first time he had played at being unconscious. He had always been so good at that.

He wanted to tear into him, to rend him to pieces, take those horns, break them off, fracture his skull, and make him suffer. He could not do that though, if he started, the Highblood would forget about his descendant, and let him die. He cursed himself yet again for not having it in him to let his descendant just, die.

Where was the courageous troll from the legends that were now told to wrigglers? Forcing himself to be quiet so another could live and continue to suffer, simply because he selfishly did not want to be alone. How pathetic.

He didn’t move as the monstrous troll lifted his descendant up, cradling him, like he actually fucking cared. It made him want to snarl and rend until there was nothing left in the room to destroy. He held himself as still as he could, trying to look like he was sleeping.

It worked, the Highblood carried his descendant past him, walking quietly, with just the barest scrape of claws on smooth metal. When he was gone, the chair he was on went flying into the wall. The force of his throw caused him to fall as he overbalanced. He bared his teeth at nothing, but refused to scream.

~~

Someone was coming. Gamzee's ear twitched and he stared in the direction of the medical block door. He'd only known those footsteps for a day and already he'd recognize their heaviness anywhere. It was like a one troll stampede. Even Agrint paused in the process of disinfecting the stitches she had given him to look up as the Highblood entered the room.

“You FOULED UP MOTHERFUCKER.” Gamzee screamed at the sight of Tavros, who was naked and shaking in the Highbloods arms. He looked like he was having some kind of seizure. Gamzee was off his cot in an instant, tearing his stitches as he tried madly to get to his friend.

The Grand Highblood only arched a brow at his descendant as he yelled, the amused smile he had on his face dropping fast. Ignoring his own health to try to get at something when he would never have the motherfucking strength. He would have so much to grind into his little screaming head.

Agrint had backed off, making herself smaller than she actually was, staying on the sidelines unless he needed her. What a good little green blood.

He didn’t bother even attempting to block Gamzee. He let him get close, then changed his grip on the little lowblood in his arms and used his free hand to slap his descendant aside. “Stay the motherfuck down. I'll get to you in a second.”

Gamzee lay limbs akimbo on the floor where he'd been tossed. His breathing was harsh through his teeth as he watched the Highblood, eyes still wary, alert, darting.

Tavros groaned slightly, eyes fluttering open and Gamzee's heart lurched.

“You gonna fix him. You better fix him, motherfucker, I'm not playing.” Gamzee muttered so quietly it was barely audible.

The Grand Highblood looked over his shoulder, indigo eyes shining. “A brother should motherfucking learn when and where to keep his noise chute shut.” There was a slight growl lacing his words. He didn’t feel like teaching his descendant right now.

“Agrint, get over here.”

She scurried over quickly, green accented medical robe flaring in her haste. Her gloves looked clean, he spied the indigo soiled gloves half sitting in the trash container. This was why he liked her. Competent and intelligent and knew when to listen to her betters.

She wasted no time, going to look over the new body now in her care.

Tavros was sweating even harder now, and he gasped when his heated back touched the cold metal table. In his mind he was being pushed against a freezing rock perched on the edge of a cliff-side, placed upon an altar to be sacrificed, his arms bound above him. Strangers jeered and laughed as the waves crashed below him. His vision was blurry, but he could see Gamzee's face in the mob. His head lowered, and when Tavros called out to him he turned and began to disappear into the crowd.

“...no...come back...” He whimpered aloud.

In an Instant Gamzee had crawled to the side of the metal table and used it's edge to pull himself up to his knees. He ignored Agrint who was checking Tavros' pulse and and grabbed Tavros' hand from hers. His hand was so slippery from sweat, it was hard to thread their fingers together, and he felt hot, so hot he practically burned against Gamzee's skin.

“I'm here, Brother, I'm here. I ain't ditching your ass for nothing.” He said and wiping at Tavros' forehead with his other hand. “But you can't ditch out on me none neither, right? You gotta stick around too...”

Agrints face scrunched up in annoyance for a second, but she allowed the highblood to hold the other’s hand as she continued to check over the injured body, putting their interaction out of her mind.

The Grand Highblood watched his descendant with narrowed eyes. It was pathetic how he dragged himself over, but he did have to give his descendant some credit, he actually fucking stuck with things. But being attached to trolls would be his undoing in the end. It always motherfucking was. He would have to teach him that…

Before he moved though, Agrint spoke up. “Grand Highblood, his injuries are severe. I will need to operate immediately to avoid death. His lower half is unsalvageable. Do I have permission to replace it?”

“Permission Granted. Runt, get back.”

“Wait, what?” Gamzee asked panicked as he was pushed back against a wall. He stood there watching in horror as a lot of movement started happening at once. “What you motherfucking mean unsalvageable? THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN?”

The Grand Highblood leaned down setting right close to the trembling indigo, his mouth curling,

“Means all those parts which are fucking lower on his pathetic little body body are too weak. They’re going to get all cut up and put back together again, little descendant of mine.”

Agrint was fast in her prep, taking out the restraints form the bed and binding Tavros to the table at the arms, shoulders and chest. She left the waist and legs free, apparently noticing that weren’t moving. She pulled out a some thick clean cloth, a metal circle designed to bind as well as some sheets and tubing.

A medical scalpel appeared in her hand and she set to work, not bothering with anaesthetic, she didn’t have the time, and began to carve.

She sliced along the bottom of the lowblood’s stomach, going shallow enough to not break any organs, and ran along the pubic bone. She pulled back the skin and muscle and checked inside. The organs were brown and glistening, and looked to be in decent shape.

They were moved aside easily, and she looked at his reproductive organs. They were beyond repair, and would need to go. Her hand disappeared into the cavity and began to hack away at the connective tissue and the muscle that attached to the pelvis. A searing tool found its way to her other hand and she went about sealing the wounds. The only difficult part would be his spine, but that could be dealt with later, when a better patch could be properly fitted.

Tavros screamed, eyes rolling back in his head. In his fevered delusion the crowd descended upon him, and now they were an army of daywalkers, decayed nightmare zombies. They fell upon his bound body and tore into his gut. And it hurt like nothing he had ever felt. Tears streamed across his face, and soon the pain was so intense he couldn't even scream. His open jaw spasmed as it sucked in increasingly faint, pained breaths.

Gamzee was digging his claws into his scalp as he watched, pulling at his hair and shaking his head back and forth. No, no, they couldn't do this. Tavros couldn't live with only half a body they can't DO THIS! But he stayed frozen, he couldn't do anything to help. He was useless, and now Tavros was going to die, going to die from having his own organs ripped right the fuck out of him while Gamzee watched. He was powerless. Again.

The Grand Highblood watched Agrint work. She was fast, and her knife strokes were sure. There was a concentrated look on her face and he doubted that there was much that would be able to take her out of her work. It was like watching one of his brothers or sisters work on a masterpiece.

There was brownblood up to her elbows and the ruined organs were dumped in the metallic waste bin she had placed next to her. They looked like mauled grubs. It made him kind of hungry.

Steam was coming from the open cavity as she sealed the inner wounds. It didn’t take long. She moved the organs around inside again, apparently checking them before she was done. The flap went back over and she used the sealer in her hand to fuse it shut. It was going to smell like burnt flesh for a long time. He hated that smell, but, the little sacrifices and all that.

His descendant was pulling his hair out, and scratching up his face. Not a motherfucking good look.

He pulled Gamzee’s hands away from his scalp and face. “Stop that.”

Purple tears streamed down Gamzee's face but he let his hands be pulled away. His wide eyes were fixed on the scene, he didn't look away once while it happened. And the thoughts he was having scared him. Some voice deep down liked seeing that much blood, and the process was as enthralling as it was horrific.

Once his wounds were sealed Tavros started seizing again. His eyes opened and closed rapidly as he shook on the table.

Agrit was fast. The sealer was dropped in favour of holding the child’s head still so he did not cause himself damage. The rest of the padding stopped him from thrashing too much.

For now, all she could do was wait it out. There were fluids in one of the cabinets she would have to attach to him, when he was stable again.

The Grand Highblood watched as it shook in its bindings, still whimpering and whining. It was going to bite out its tongue at this rate. He looked to his descendant who had the most peculiar face going on. His pupils dilating in bloodlust, fixed and staring.

There was hope for him yet. But, Agrint would need all her concentration to make sure his new pet stayed alive.

“Do whatever you need to do to keep it alive, I’ll dredge up some new haunches for it later. Runt, lets go let our green sister work. I got some clothes for you to put on. Can’t be running around in your motherfucking wrigglers day look.” He started to pull his descendant towards the door, Agrint giving a word of confirmation.

Gamzee didn't tear his eyes away from Tavros for one second as he was forcibly pulled by the arm toward the door. Tavros was...

He was halved. Completely. His legs lay on the floor in a pool of their own blood, discarded, like they were fucking trash. And covering the open wound of Tavros' lower torso was some kind of metal plating, attached to the tail end of his spine, holding in his organs, and all hooked up to tubes and wires leading to a dozen different machines and fluid drips. Agrint was rushing around to hook them up as fast as she could. Calm as anything, like she hadn't just sliced through a trolls guts and left him a halved up, disfigured fucking WRECK.

Horrific didn't begin to describe it. It was beyond anything Gamzee had ever witnessed, dreamed or believed. His eye twitched. And for a moment he was struck with an unexplainable rush of manic glee, followed immediately by crashing horror and guilt.

With a particularly hard yank he was finally dragged out of the room, the door slid shut behind him and Tavros's bisected, brutalized body was lost from view, but the afterimage of it lingered. Burned into his memory for what he feared (MOTHERFUCKING HOPED) would be a very, very long time.


	7. Chapter 7

There was a strange heaviness attached to Tavros' lower back and stomach when he woke up, and it was several long minutes before he opened his eyes, as they too felt similarly weighed down.

Where was he? He remembered falling asleep on scratchy woolbeast sheets, a warm, declawed hand shifting through his hair.

When he realized from the shape of the ceiling tiles that he was back in the Grand Highblood’s medical block a rush of remembered pain and shame overtook him so strongly he almost passed out again. A huge hand pressing against his stomach, the feeling of something rupturing inside and the sound of...of...

He'd tilted his head to the side out of nausea, eyes drifting downward, and then suddenly was staring at nothing. The absence of something that should be there.

His legs.

They were gone.

Tavros opened his mouth to scream but bile came out instead. It dribbled awkwardly onto his bare chest until he managed to wrench his eyes away from the mess of wires and empty space where his legs used to be and aim his spew at the ground beside his cot.

He noticed a strange troll in medicull robes standing nearby, but he found he didn't care who she was. He didn't care about anything. So strong was his horror and disgust that he just kept retching and retching until there was absolutely nothing left.

He collapsed back on his cot, eyes shut tight and hands covering his wet mouth. It's another nightmare, it had to be. But when he opened his eye a crack to check. No. They still. Weren't. There.

He shut his eyes again, tears beginning to leak from their corners (they already felt so tired and sore, he'd cried more in the past few days than he had in all his other sweeps combined). His hands clawed shakily down his chin and fisted together on his chest.

“Am...am I...” He couldn't hardly get the words out. He swallowed more puke and coughed out. “A-are they getting replaced?”

Agrint was moving around the medical room, checking her work. Making sure the tubes were correctly sealed, and that all the fluids were getting in. The quick metal patch she had capped him off with was holding nicely, no leaks, and his organs seemed to not be in distress. It was all going good, in her opinion.

He was stable enough that she did not need to have him strapped down at least, the last of his tremors receding hours ago.

She had been cleaning up some of her tools when the lowblood woke up, and started retching, on himself, and on the ground. It was disgusting, she hated it when her patients puked on themselves. It seemed to be mostly foamy liquid, at the least. No visible blood or chucks. The boy probably hadn't eaten in days.

She approached after he was done, a glass of water in one hand, and a cloth in the other. She handed them to him as he started talking.

“Drink this. The Grand Highblood mentioned that he was going to replace them.” She smiled at him. “When is another matter, but, he does not like to leave weakness alone for long. It will most likely happen soon.”

Tavros opened his eyes reluctantly and took what Agrint offered him. The water he downed messily, and mostly ended up spilling on himself. He didn't bother cleaning himself up, instead he clutched the cloth to his chest and wrung it between his hands.

It was a while before he spoke next, eyes closed and brow knitted. There were so many questions he both wanted to ask, and feared the answers to.

“Did...did Gamzee see it happen? The uh, op-peration.”

A hand holding his... warm, sweet and sour breath whispering that it would never let him go. Was it all a dream? Did this stranger even know who Gamzee was? Who he was? Somehow, Tavros doubted it.

“Gamzee... he's Indigo...not the highblood, a boy who...who looks like him...” His voice was as loud as he could risk speaking without re-triggering his nausea. Which was barely above a whisper.

Agrint calmly took the cup, trying her best not to touch where it had spilled, and refilled it, handing it back. “The Grand Highblood’s descendant was here when it happened. I had been treating him for his injuries. Raise your arm.” She guided his hand up. He had shifted some of the needles she had slid under his ribs. She would have to adjust them. “Hold still.”

Tavros bit back a wince as he raised his arms. So Gamzee had been there. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or not. No, he decided. He wasn't. Who knew what seeing something that brutal had done to him?

“What's going to happen to me, now?” He asked, Eyes drifting like in a dream to where he swore he could see the outline of where his feet had been. The Highblood had said he'd be given new legs if he 'behaved', but what went through that giant clown's twisted thinkpan was anyone's guess. He could just as easily leave Tavros like this, stunted and weak, so it would be impossible for him to escape. More so than it already had been, because now he had his blood loss and nausea to worry about.

She shifted the needle until she was satisfied, then moved down to where she had sealed the plug onto his lower half, examining the still inflamed looking, tender flesh, the sealing burn scars still bright brown.

“I will need to find a better solution than this to hold your organs in, eventually. As for the Grand Highblood, he did say he would find you some legs later. That’s the best that you could hope for.” She looked up from her examination and tried to smile a little bit. “You should have no worries about that, young Summoner. Like I said, he won’t keep something as pathetic looking as you around. He wouldn’t be able to resist killing you before long.”

She turned her attention back to the seams. “Try not to move too much, you’ll rip yourself open.”

Tavros gaped at her as she turned away from him. Then quickly shut him mouth and looked away. He tried not to think about the words 'organs' or 'rip yourself open' and repressed a shudder at finally identifying the strange smell in the air as one of burning flesh and fresh blood. There was something else she had said though, something that distracted from the needles and the wires and the fact that so much of him was missing now, physically and otherwise.

“You know my ancestor?”

She didn’t look up from her inspection, shifting some more tubes and wires. She would need to replace some of these. 

“I’ve worked for the Grand Highblood for several sweeps. I work on your ancestor often, and take care of him when his master is away, bringing him food and such. It looks like you didn’t tear anything, at least. Try to keep it that way. It will be difficult keeping you alive otherwise.” she sighed as she straightened, taking off her gloves and tossing them in the waste receptacle.

“Would you like a blanket?”

Tavros didn't reply immediately. He was thinking about his ancestor. How long had Rufio been on this ship? How many times had he been 'worked on'? How many times would Tavros himself have to be 'worked on' once the Highblood was done with him? Even supposing he received his promised legs. It only meant he would last longer, a more durable pet...

But on the other hand. Legs meant he could run. Legs meant open doors and strength and hope.

'Think of the legs' he thought to himself, and took a deep breath. He couldn't let his own thoughts destroy him, not with everything he'd been through...

“Yes, please.”

She nodded, turning to a supply cabinet. She stepped in some coppery brown blood. She still hadn’t gotten around to picking up the severed remains. She pulled out a scratchy older blanket, and brought it over draping it over him gently. “This should keep you warmer. It’s much easier for us warmer bloods to get cold.”

He wouldn’t be able to survive infections as he was right now. Any more stress on his body could kill him. She needed to get in contact with the Robothetics head of the medical wing as soon as she could. He was busy right now with his batch of new recruits, but the needs of the Highblood came first on this ship, always.

She turned back, eyeing the legs that peeked out from behind the examination table. She should pick them up now, before it really started to smell. It would only upset her charge though. He was doing surprisingly well for just having had his legs removed, not as much thinkpan trauma as she thought. The Grand Highblood knew how to pick out the ones that would last. He had a thing for ‘survivors’.

“Close your eyes for a few minutes.”

Feeling as though he were on some other plane of reality, Tavros nodded and closed his eyes, he focused on kneading the scratchy blanket in his hands, running the wool over his knuckles and feeling the fibers snag on his claws. It didn't nearly distract him enough to ignore what sounded like a body being dragged. Tavros wasn't stupid, he didn't need to see to know his missing legs had to be somewhere. He didn't want to ask where they were going now.

He desperately wanted to pull the blanket over his head, to hide from the overhead lights and the pain and the stranger who'd cut him in half, but his fever and his shaking hands wouldn't let him. Besides, he wasn't a child anymore. Only children believed hiding under blankets or in piles kept them safe.

She dumped the useless parts into the waste receptacle, and hit a button, immediate emptying it in the ship’s incinerator to be dealt with. With that done, there were other things she needed to attend to now.

She turned back noticing her charge was shaking again. She went forwards, giving him a final look over.

“I will be leaving for a few hours. I have other duties that need my immediate attention. Is there anything you require before I go?

He couldn’t help it. He laughed. A withering chuckle that started with a sharp inhalation and carried into his words.

“You're, seriously asking me that?” Tavros looked in her eyes, they were fully green and heavy with lines and shadows. His laughter died in his throat.

“...No.” He finished lamely. What could he tell her? That he needed his old life back? That he needed his friends and his lusus and a soak in a warm ablution trap? She couldn't do anything for him now, nobody could. 

“I'm fine.” 

He turned his head away from her and waited for her to leave. He wanted to be alone, even if it was for a few measly moments in this horrible room.

She nodded at him, not surprised by the broken chuckle. It meant he was sane at least, which was more than she could say for some of the trolls here. “Try to rest, if you can.”

She turned and left the medical block, the door shutting behind her almost soundlessly, locking itself, lest any patients thought to wander off. Now she just needed to locate that pompous blueblood….

~~

Gamzee was marching in front of him, not fighting him, just walking. There was indigo blood dripping on the floor and he was still as bare as the day he had been hatched. Not in a fit state to be going around in public. How do you scare someone bare-assed and bloody with your own motherfucking shade?

His hand settled on his descendant’s shoulder, claws digging in slightly to bring him back, he seemed to be drifting. Another thing he would have to beat out of the little whelp. Daydreaming was going to get him killed, and how would that look on him? Might make those would be upstarts a little more uppity.

The room he pushed his descendant into was his own personal block. Not his throne room, no, this was more personal, his place of rest. Oddly, it wasn’t covered in massive splashes of colour, like most would have guessed. He loved colour, craved watching the shades bleed into one another, becoming a motherfucking miraculous macabre mural. The paintings breathed life into a room, but they were also distracting. No proper rest to be found there.

He pushed Gamzee towards a doorway at the far end, towards his bathroom.

Gamzee tried to stop at the door frame, but the highblood simply pushed him inside until he tripped over himself and fell in. The cold tile smacked hard against his naked ass.

“Fucking...” Gamzee looked up at The Highblood, who loomed over him, then over his shoulder to the gigantic bathtub which looked big enough to fit about 5 trolls comfortably.

“What? Now you're gonna give me a bath? Sick of your own rank stench on a motherfucker?” He muttered, not bothering to stand back up.

He debated letting his descendant bathe himself as he watched him fall and land in a pile on the ground. He was mostly long limbs and boney corners. He looked like a dirty broken bleeding doll on the floor, staring up at him with his glass eyes, just hinting at colour.

He reached down and grabbed his descendant by the arms and lifted him up, depositing him in the bottom of the tub. His horns barely breached the rim. “I would let you give yourself your own motherfucking bath runt, but I don’t think you would even know the facet form the plug.”

He reached forwards, turning on the tap and letting the water run hot.

The heat was sudden and shocking and caused Gamzee to hiss as it touched him, but he didn't move away. For the size of the tub, it filled remarkably fast and soon he was waist deep in water with steam enveloping him on all sides, making his skin sweat and hair frizz out. He didn't move for soap or shampoo, of which there were many varieties lining the sides of the great tub, he just watched the highblood, dull hatred pulsing behind his eyelids.

“You gonna get him new legs?” He asked finally.

Kneeling, he watched his descendant being swallowed up by the water, a small, boney ball of rage. Oh, there was so much potential there. He could see purple bleeding out from between his legs, and there was some lingering dirt from Alternia and even a flower in his hair. He looked like a feral wriggler... or one that had a shit lusus.

He snorted, “Not your motherfucking business what I do with my own property.” His hand drifted up along the various bottles, all shapes and colours and sizes and smells. He couldn’t decide on which one to use, all had an interesting smell, but not what he wanted. His hand drifted over a large fuchsia bottle with a diamond etched onto the glass shell.

It was the one he kept for Ikhthyes, his shark-eyed, urchin-mouthed pale mate, Her Royal Motherfucking Condescension, whenever it pleased her empirical ass to see him. It was her personal favourite. It smelled like old seaweed that was let dry for a few weeks. He smiled as he poured some of the fuchsia liquid onto his palm and went for Gamzee’s hair.

Gamzee's fists clenched but he said nothing as the slickness dripped down from his hair into his face and the smell reached him. He sniffed. It smelled like the sea, like rocks on a beach, empty waves, empty promises...

“This stuff smells like shit.” He growled, as the Highblood began to knead painfully into his scalp.

His fingers were getting stuck in the mass of hair. Hadn’t the kid ever brushed it once before in his life? Shit was disgusting. He used his claws to cut away at the knots. The suds that had appeared in his hair were already a dirty brown colour.

He snorted in amusement at his descendant’s comment. “When you can clean yourself, you can choose better smelling shit.”

He didn’t give a warning as he forced his descendant backwards, horns narrowly missing the edge of the tub and he yanked him back by the hair until the offending part of him was submerged, brown bubbles drifting from him. He let him back up when he thought most of the soap was out.

Gamzee thrashed and coughed, hands pulling at the Highbloods wrist.

“G-get the FUCK off me you MALIGNANT MOTHERFUCKER. I can get at my OWN MOTHERFUCKING SCRUB, ALRIGHT!?” Gamzee screamed, feeling the voodoos bust through the dull black of his mind from the show of the hot water in his eyes and lungs. He managed to push the Highbloods hand off him and started rubbing at what was left of the soap in his hair, rubbing at the suds on his face, he just didn't want the Highblood to touch him again, didn't want him anywhere near him ever again.

It was so fucked up. What kind of messiahs would let at Tavros getting all cut up, while he got to sit there, squeaky clean as a motherfucking whistle. Didn't make a fuck lick of sense.

The Highblood laughed at his little descendant as he batted his hands away and went scrubbing at his own hair and face. He allowed it, settling on the rim of the tub to supervise his charges attempt to clean himself.

“Guess your lusus DID teach you how to clean the gunk from your head.” There was still so much dirt on him.

As Gamzee scrubbed, his make-up was getting ruined. White trails flowing down his face, gray coming up more and more. It didn’t even look like anything anymore, mostly just a mess. His descendant didn’t seem to notice, why not help him along?

The closet was too far away, and his descendant might slip and hurt himself, he wouldn’t have put it past the dozy thing. He shuffled through his sylladex, eventually bringing out the shirt the younger Taurus had been wearing. He hadn’t even realised he had grabbed it. Granted he had been a bit... preoccupied. He dunked it in the water and grabbed his descendant by the horn and shoved it in his face, wiping off the rest of the make-up, scrubbing harder where it seemed to stick.

Gamzee cried out when he saw Tavros's shirt, and for a second it seemed his body couldn’t decide whether it wanted to reach out and grab it, or flinch away. He twitched and snatched the soggy fabric in his fingers when it touched his skin, keeping hold of it even as the Highblood scrubbed viciously at his face.

When the Highblood tried to peel away the shirt from him, Gamzee kept holding on, glaring through his long, dripping bangs.

“I ain't lettin' you take this again. I WANT IT, IT'S MINE.” 

His eyes widened, he hadn't meant to say that. 

“I mean... It's Tavs, right? What you need with an old rag anyway?”

The Grand Highblood grinned at his descendant’s demand, he was acting as he should be. Taking charge. Claiming what was his. He seemed to deflate almost immediately after he said it, but it had been clear as anything. As much as the twit might scream to the contrary, he wanted to own the little crippled brownblood, not be his motherfucking equal. Oh yes, there was something here to work with.

He just had to encourage it to come on out.

He let the rag go, chuckling, claws tearing it slightly in places. “Keep it, it’s yours since you want it so much. Toys don’t need their old symbols, only their owner’s.” He shrugged a bit, resting a bit more on his heels

He checked over his descendant. His shaggy hair was clean of debris and dripping around his bare face. He didn’t look good without a subjugglator’s face. Looked bare and hollow and empty. He was mostly clean though, which was good enough.

He reached in, grabbing his descendant by his armpits and lifting him out easily, depositing him on the floor. This time, he did go for a towel, throwing the balled up fabric at his descendant.

Gamzee let his sore body be dropped on the cold tile without any fuss, still clutching Tavros's t-shirt like a lifeline, he was honestly not sure what to do with it now, he hadn't thought his ancestor would let him keep it. A towel hit him in the face and he let it fall into his lap.

Looking at Tavros's shirt made him feel sick, it felt so strange in his hands. And it made him feel so guilty, like he'd ripped it from his bro himself. He ran the pad of one thumb over the worn symbol in the center.

Again, it was a war within himself. He wanted to get it back to Tavros (messiahs willing he'd still be alive when Gamzee saw him next) so he could hide it away, and keep it as something to remind him who he was, even after all the shit he'd been through. He wasn't gonna let this sick fuck make Tavros forget where he came from, that he had a life outside this twisted motherfuckers machinations.

But...

Part of him didn't want to give it back.

Without even thinking about it Gamzee lifted the shirt and held it to his face, breathing in deep. If there had been any trace of Tavros in the cloth it was masked by the scent of blood and dirt and soap and facepaint. Still, it made him feel...something. He captchalogued the shirt and, feeling disgusted with himself and the world, picked up the towel.

The Highblood watched his descendant breathe in the scent of the shirt. He was really fond of his fly’s descendant. Maybe he would give it to him, after he got trained up a bit, as a reward. Depending on how long it took to even train him. The kid was sentimental, and seemed to think gutter blood’s were on the same level as them.

He was also taking his sweet motherfucking time drying off. He moved forwards, yanking the towel to dry him himself, brisk and harsh, rubbing the fabric harder than was needed. He was more careful around his descendant’s horns. He bet the horn beds were still sore from where he hit them earlier.

“You are too motherfucking skinny kid. Going to need to get some weight put on you.”

Gamzee scoffed and scowled as he was yet again manhandled, every touch burned and made him want to bathe all over again.

The Highblood considered his descendant for a second, taking in his height. He would be about the right height to fit in the clothes that were left over from his last descendant. They shouldn’t be too bloodstained at any rate.

“C’mon runt. Can’t have you running around in just your skin.”

He moved back into the main room, then headed to another doorway that led to a small storage unit. It wasn’t very deep, but it held some of his more sentimental items. On the tops of the shelves lining the walls were skulls of his other descendants, lined up in order, they would be looking down if he had been any shorter. In the end, they were all about eye-level for him.

It was cramped up there. There would hardly be any room for another skull if this one disappointed him as well. He would have to get the room enlarged, again. He traced a hand over the skulls, enjoying their smooth surface, and the beauty found in bones. His claws clicked on a notch from the most recent one, a failure that did not live up to his ideals, just one of thirty-two that failed to prove they could carry the responsibility of his legacy.

His hand dropped down and he started to go through the smaller containers, trying to find the uniform that had belonged to the last one.

The Grand Highblood had left Gamzee alone in the bathroom, assuming he would follow, and after a moment alone on the cold tile, Gamzee did get up and move to the main room. He wrapped his soggy towel around his waist and peeked into the closet after the Highblood. He only caught a glimpse of what looked like dozens of skulls, all with the tall, swirling horns of the Capricorn, before the Highblood stood up from whatever he had been rummaging through, blocking Gamzee's view.

Gamzee didn't ask, but he was pretty sure he knew who those skulls belonged to. And he found himself less surprised than he should have been.

The Highblood was carrying clothes, Gamzee could smell the dust and age of them. It was a Subjugglator uniform, with it's detailed, whimsical patterns and bright colours, though the overwhelming theme was the rich purple of his blood. When the Highblood shook them out, they looked impressive, beautiful and fearsome. But Gamzee would rather be naked the rest of his life than wear the rags of some other lost shmuck that fell in league with this old fool. He wasn't about fall in step and slip into his part as easy as that, he didn't fancy the idea of his skull being the next in line on that shelf. He began to back away...

The designs on it were dizzying mash of chaotic order. The cloth was rich in his hands, and it was old. Every single one of his descendants had worn this uniform, all of them gladly. If he thought hard, he could almost imagine each of their individual smells that still seemed to linger on the old cloth.

He looked at his descendant, offering the clothes and noticed him backing away. Like he didn’t want to wear the regalia that had been motherfucking made for him. The uniform belonged to him now, as the symbol of a proper subjugglator trainee, and his heir.

“I know you aren’t all backing away like you wouldn’t want to wear these miraculous threads, oh descendant of mine. Get over here.”

He bared his teeth with a tight smile.

“These will be covering you one way or another, descendant.” He took a threatening step forwards. The door was locked, Gamzee would have no place to go, and it would be easy to catch him. His grin took a wicked turn.

“Or do you want me to put them on you?” 

Gamzee stopped in his backtracking, still staring at the uniform.

“...Okay.” He said after a long pause. “I'll put it on... if you tell me why you killed the last motherfucker who wore these threads.” His chuckle-voodoos twitched for a second at the look in his ancestors eyes.

He smiled at his descendant and threw the clothes at him. His Gamzee was so much different than the others that had shared their blood. Demanded things where the others had grovelled, looked him in the eye and challenged him on everything. It was a nice change.

“Okay runt, you got your wish. The last motherfucker that wore that died because he was not worthy of taking my title. He was weak and small, smaller than even you, which is a miracle in and of itself.” He chuckled a bit at that.

“He just did not have the motherfucking drive nor the talent to take on my responsibilities.” He stared hard at his descendant, smile fading into a stern line.

“Don’t be disappointing me like that one did.”

Gamzee felt like screaming as he held out his uniform at arms length, pretending to look it over. Really he was just trying to keep from tearing it into tiny pieces and vaulting at the Highblood again. Gamzee had seen sick before, seen it in movies and in nightmares and in the razor thin lines of his mind when he looked a little too hard. But the troll he now had to call his ancestor, his mentor, he made madness and cruelty an art form. It was difficult to acknowledge that some part of him, deep down in those secret, hidden places, liked that.

Too bad the rest of him screamed nothing but hate for the motherfucker.

He avoided the Highblood's eye as his let his towel fall and began to pull on the uniform. It was a one piece jumpsuit, but segmented his features with it's linear design, making him appear even taller and sharper than he already was. Once he had zipped it up he fiddled with the shiny buttons bearing his symbol on the cuffs. He felt like he'd slipped all into somebody else's skin. He could swear the thing still felt warm, even though the brother who'd worn it had been dead for who knew how long. He looked up.

“So, it's gonna be all official now, my wicked ass being all formally fallin' in line behind yours? We playing house, motherfucker?” He sucked at one of his teeth before asking, venomously. “You got a name besides Highblood? Or should I just call you Daddy?”

He looked over his descendant as he put on the outfit. It fit him almost like a glove. It brought out more depth to him, making him look taller, bigger, more dangerous. It was a bit big on him, but he would grow into it, eventually.

He growled a bit at his descendant’s words. “Do I look like some kind of mammalian beast to you?” He snorted, but moved closer to his descendant, tugging on the clothing, making the barely seen elbow pads sit on his actual elbows, getting the seams straight.

“In front of others, you call me Grand Highblood or Sir. In private, and ONLY in private…” He paused, debating, and started sliding his fingers through his descendant’s hair, pulling apart some knots.

“You may call me Amalthea.”

Gamzee was immediately sorry he'd asked, he hadn't expected the Highblood to give him his real name, and as soon as he'd heard it... it send a shiver through him. He couldn't say why. Maybe it was just the claws scraping against his scalp. He shut his eyes and took a breath.

“Amalthea. Okay, what the fuck happens now?”

He let out a slight rumble when his descendant say his name. It’d been a while since his name had been uttered by indigo lips. He grinned down, finishing getting his hair somewhat under control. It was as much of a mess as his own, but he liked that on this one. It would stay this way.

His hands drifted down to the other’s shoulders, gripping them slightly, feeling the minute changes in the other’s body. 

“Now? We will get your face put on right, and we’ll be getting your motherfucking picture taken, my descendent. Then you will be all motherfucking ‘official’”

He squeezed the shoulders, enjoying the feeling of bones shifting underneath.

“Then you will start your motherfucking training.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued...


End file.
